Advancing Kaiju
by der Reichtangle
Summary: "...it was perhaps out of desperation that we were gathered, in the second year since the War began anew. A last flicker of defiance against the monsters that sought to eradicate us, that had brought the end of the world with them. But come those days, Mankind would learn it could hope once more..."
1. Prologue

The clouds lazily strolled by above, their various shades of grey making it possible to distinguish them from each other. I felt my clothes and the back of my head getting damp due to the to the wet grass underneath me, but it bothered me little. My mind drifted away from my body, like a kite floating in the wind, washed away by the same currents that carried the clouds onward.

The lack of bright light, the feeling of cold and foggy air running back and forth in my nostrils, the gloomy ambience, the humidity clinging to the skin... Most people would rather contemplate a clear blue sky while bathing in warm sunlight. Not me. That I could find such serenity in an otherwise typically depressing atmosphere puzzled most of those who knew me and, all things considered, this preference wasn't fully understood by myself either. Not that I had ever bothered giving it much thought, such unconscious tastes were best left without much reflection in any case.

"You're going to catch a cold." — aloof as I was, I had fail to notice the girl standing crouched by my side, waiting to get a reaction out of me from some time. Her face was all blurry and her voice sounded more like a faint echo than anything else, but the distinct red scarf waving in the wind was a dead giveaway of who she was.

"I'll be fine, thanks for the concern." — it's not like she was particularly preoccupied with my health. I couldn't get sick even if I wanted to, and she was fully aware of that. She was just tired of watching me lie down on the grass and wanted to leave.

"How long are you going to keep doing that?" — yep, definitely bored.

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. You can go home, I'll catch up later." — I wanted to stay like that for a bit longer, without a care in the world.

Gazing the great vastness of the sky, without barriers or boundaries, allowed me to escape, if briefly, from reality and all the nuisances that come along with it. It was rather hypocritical of me to delude myself with such escapist daydreaming, but at least it was always temporary. Not a constant fantasy perpetuated by that gilded cage like with the rest. That's why I could only truly relax by staring at clouds; it was the one place I could look without having that gigantic eyesore in my line of sight.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"There's no place to go to. It's gone."

"Gone? What do you mea-?" — the ground began to shake violently, shifting as if it was an ocean wave. I promptly jolted to my feet once it calmed down a bit.

Atop the gentle hill that dominates the (mostly deserted) small park I like to frequent, one could get a decent panoramic view of the city below. The familiar skyline filled with a plethora of toneless rectangular buildings, perpetually blanked by light fog, dotted with several spots of light here and there, and the faded glow of numerous vehicles moving down the busy streets surrounding them. But now, looking down at the city I grew up in, that wasn't the case anymore.

First were the screams; thousands upon thousands of voices clamoring for life, only to be shot down and silenced shortly thereafter amid horrid wails.

Then came the thunder; razing the soil beneath, spewing noxious smoke and dust that blanket the landscape and saturate the air, burning my lungs.

Finally, the laughter; as I saw the city, my home, drowning and burning, helpless against the deluge, I heard the jubilation of its slayers. The maddening cackle signalling the end of times. The veritable trumpet of the apocalypse.

The image began to sink in and all came rushing forward from the depths of my mind.

"W-What... what... what... happened?" — in utter disbelief, I violently shook the girl by her shoulders — "TELL ME, WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED!?"

"It all came tumbling down, just like you said it would." — she explained with an unnatural calm as a colossal blood red hand emerged from the shrouding mist, veiling the same sky I was gazing just a few moments ago in its entirety. Slowly, as it began descending upon us, the palm tore itself open akin a gaping mouth, revealing a bright blue gash that irradiated the surroundings with an alien glow.

Too aghast for words, I collapsed onto the ground, now devoid grass and replaced with stinging cold asphalt, as the strength of my legs first faltered and then left them entirely. When I managed to look up again, the girl was gone. In her place stood a small crowd of people, each one looking down at me with an unmistakable accusatory glare despite their faces being just as blurred as hers had been. I raised my left arm in a pathetic attempt to plea for their help, only for it to blister and melt off into a thick pool of liquefied flesh and bone. The pain was unbearable, but no sound escaped my throat when I tried to scream, not even a gasp of air, as it was swollen shut.

Amid the agony, out of the corner of my eye, I was able to see the farthest of the bystanders hastily shoving its way through the rest of the apathetic and unflinching mob towards me. Much to my baffled horror, this one was definitely recognizable to me. My mind screamed.

_No... no... no... not you! Why did you came!? Get out of where!_

The figure fell to its knees next to me, bending over to pull my broken self closer.

_I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! It's all my fault! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!_

I felt a warm embrace closing around me, a welcome reprieve from the shivering cold ground.

_Run away, damn you, run! Just leave me here! Run! Ruuuuuuun!_

My blood soaked hair was gently stroked, as the person's chin rested on the top of my head.

"...rrrruuu...rrr...ruuuuunnn...ruuunn...rrrunnn..." — somehow, out of desperation, I managed to force out a barely audible whimper. The caressing hand reached the back of my neck, which burnt on contact as if the fingers were branding irons.

"How can you ask your_ mother_ to do such a thing?" — that was all she said before we're consumed by the blazing void.

/-/-/

/-/-/

Eren Jaeger woke up for the first time in what it felt like a really long while.

_A bad dream?_

The darkness remained. He could not perceive the world around him, his entire existence felt like flickering static. Slowly, his consciousness started to crawl out of the bottomless pit, compelled by an innate desire to escape the emptiness. His body stood inert, wholly unresponsive to his commands.

_A really bad dream. _

As the lingering panic from the nightmare subsided, his senses began to return. Eyes still closed, as his eyelids were lead shutters at the time, he first noticed the warm smoothness pressed against his exposed neck and head, something soft and cushioned holding him afloat. He was lying down on a bed it seemed.

With some effort, he managed to expose his right eye, to the blinding bright white light that bathed him and his surroundings. The other one remained firmly held shut despite his insistence.

_Where am I? _

He tried to put his thoughts into words, hoping someone would listen, but a large foreign object shoved deep down his throat kept him from talking. Warm air rhythmically came and went out of the plastic-like tube, forcing his lungs to mimic the tempo, which he suddenly found lacking as the rest of his lethargic body stirred up.

Still too weak to simply grab the tube and pull it out in one go, he used the weight of his right arm to press the base against his stomach and attempted to dislodge it with a couple of swift jerks. The abrupt movements left his muscles further aching from the soreness, accentuating the sharp and throbbing pain making itself manifest wherever sensation returned to his lethargic body. The scraping sensation in the back of his throat also had the unfortunate side effect of triggering his gag reflex. He nearly asphyxiated when the awfully bitter bile came up from his stomach with the tube still halfway out his mouth.

Finally managing to spat out both the object and the rancid liquid unto the sheets by the edge of the mattress, he let himself back to the same semi-reclined position he had awoken in, worn out by the effort. Like in the dream, nothing other than his frantic wheezes escaped his chapped lips, his throat too sore and dry from the forcible removal of the breathing apparatus and the coarse vomit to make any other sound.

His exposed pupil had finally adjusted itself to the ambient light giving him a view of the virtually featureless space he found himself in. A grey ceiling with a square fluorescent light fixture in its center, white floor and walls save the one to the right which was almost entirely made of clear glass, through which the intense sunlight entered the room. Between the pungent smell of disinfectant, the incessant beeping of the a nearby monitor, the assortment of medical equipment that flanked him, the numerous wires and tubes connecting him to those machines, it didn't take him long (even in his state) to figure out what this place was intended for.

_What am I doing in an hospital? _

The miserable state he was in had probably something to do with it. Most people would be glad to be in one if they ever felt like he was doing, but he was never a big fan of such facilities. A place where people went to get healthy, yet it was always so sullied and stale with death. Thankfully, he never had the need to visit these facilities often. In fact, he came to think of it, the last time he had set foot on one was when Father had to take him to work one day, on account of an emergency, all those years ago in Zhigan-

_"It's gone." _

The girl's ghostly voice echoed from the depths of his psyche, causing him to shudder.

_"It's gone." _

The dream had been very real. His home had long been gone and he had a firsthand account of its fate.

_"It's gone." _

The beginning of the very real nightmare - THAT day - still vivid enough as if it had occurred yesterday. Uneasy by the rush of emotions, he pulled himself into an upright position, with considerable effort as his muscles were still unduly stiff.

Something immediately felt wrong. It was if one side of him was heavier than the other, making it difficult to stand straight due to the lack of balance. Bent over his stomach, he took a peek to his left... and just like that, all semblance of sluggishness disappeared.

There was nothing attached to that side of his torso.

_W-W-Where...? No... No... NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo..._

Removing the white cloth covering the lower part of his body revealed that everything below the left knee and right ankle were also poignantly missing. Everywhere else he checked - the remainder of his legs, his waist, his chest, his neck, a good portion of the skull (including his left eye) and his now single arm - his skin was totally sheathed in bandages. The veins in his scalp pulsated viciously from the unpleasant memories that surged forward. To his unending dismay, it all pieced itself together in his head.

_"She's gone." _

_I... _

It wasn't the sight of his wrecked body that abhorred and frighten him.

_"She's gone." _

_I... _

That dreadful day hadn't been the only thing he recalled during that dream.

_"She's gone."_

_I... _

Everybody else was in fact... because of him.

They had paid the ultimate price for following him in his lunacy.

_I_

_k_

_i_

_l_

_l_

_e_

_d_

_h_

_e_

_r_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" — the soothing silence of that morning was interrupted by the resonating cries of a guilt-ridden young man.

/-/-/

/-/-/

Once, Mankind looked up to the heavens, the endless frontier, and wondered what could lie up there, among the starry sky. Undisputed masters of our home, perhaps it was only natural to see the vast reaches of the universe as the greater foundation of our young species' legacy, an evolutionary drive to explore and expand towards the unknown. The inescapable draw of the beyond feed our collective imaginations, filling legends and theories alike, in anticipation to what was going to be next great odyssey, when we would commit ourselves to transverse the cold void.

Once, before our throne was usurped.

The first one ascended from the depths, the very pits of our realm, making landfall in one of the many vibrant metropolis that covered the planet at the time. When the weapons we had created to use on each other took it down, on the sixth day, there was nothing left but smoldering ruins devoid of life, a landscape straight out of an apocalypse. We mourned the dead, helped those that had survived, rebuilt what was destroyed and, above all else, prayed that such fateful carnage wouldn't repeat itself, that we would be allowed to move on.

If there was ever a God, he paid no mind to our pleas. It was not going to stop.

More kept emerging, individually and sporadic at first then as an unrelenting tsunami, a veritable torrent of desolation razing everything in its path. Millions perished as cities and, soon afterwards, entire nations were overrun by the unspeakable monstrosities. The rest of the world looked on in horror as the bloodletting escalated to a magnitude unmatched by even our most destructive conflicts, believing it wouldn't be long till such butchery would come for them as well.

Yet, it was this very fear that drove Mankind to strike back.

They had counted on the humans to hide, to give up, to fail, but we weren't known to passively wait for our demise, to left such affronts go unchallenged. Those lost souls became our rallying cry, a single banner under which the entirety of our race, for the first time in its history, came together to wage war. Not for power, not for resources, not for an ideology but for our very existence. With the entire might of the world behind us, we believed we could grind their advance to a halt and then, bit by bloody bit, begin pushing them back towards the sea. We would purge the foul monsters from our lands and ravage their lairs beneath the waves.

On those violet tarnished battlefields, the beasts revealed how naive we really were.

Time and time again, they demonstrated their aberrant ability to adjust themselves to our weapons and strategies, forcing us to pay an excruciatingly high price with each confrontation. Any advantage we might have had, any painstakingly achieved gain was viciously nullified forcing us to resort to increasingly desperate measures, which further deteriorated our already precarious situation. Our early drive began to falter under the weight of the many sacrifices we had to endure to keep on fighting, just to delay what to many was becoming the unavoidable.

We were a dune, gradually washed away and swallowed by a stormy sea.

But at the same time, we couldn't stop, we couldn't throw down our arms and solemnly wait for death to come by. We had to keep going, on the off chance that there was still a way. That even if we couldn't win, we could still deny them victory, we could endure the tempest.

One answer stood above all.

A concept in some way, shape or form known to every civilization throughout History, despite the chronological and geographical barriers separating each. It was perhaps an intrinsic reaction built into every human's subconscious, a lesson embedded through millennia of struggles against nature and ourselves. On those dark days, it became the only hope for our continued survival. Such was our salvation.

We built a wall.

As our world collapsed, we pour our dwindling resources and energies into the greatest architectural undertaking to date, erecting the greatest fortress ever known to Man. A modern day Ark to whether the flood of destruction that came crashing down on us. The monsters found it impregnable, vastly dwarfing their most imposing specimens, much to the rejoice of those safe within its boundaries, secure in the knowledge that they could deny them a complete triumph. Those outside could only look in envy, anger and despair as they were left to be systematically eradicated, both to buy us precious time for the Wall's completion and to ensure the future sustainability of our species inside of it. Lives forfeited for the greater good of Mankind; that's what its remnants, nested inside their stronghold, told themselves.

A century has come to pass since what left of the human race found itself trapped in a cage of their own design.

Protected by our Citadels, we lulled ourselves into a false sense of security, a fake peace. The monsters that had robbed us of most of our home became almost myth-like; a distant threat of a distant past. We strove to forget the terror that had beleaguered us, seeking to relive the glory of a bygone golden era, convinced that our fortress would keep them away forever.

In the end, we did forget.

No wall has ever keep an enemy at bay indefinitely. One's strength simply determines how long it will delay the inevitable when pitted against an unwavering foe, as History itself can certainly attest to. It's also said that those that cannot learn from the past are ultimately doomed to repeat it.

On that day, our folly caught up with us. We remembered.

We were no longer the masters of our planet.

We had been disgraced to live like cattle trapped in a corral.

We would suffer the same fate as all those we had to leave behind.

On that day, Mankind received a grim reminder: **we lived in fear of the Kaiju**.

/-/-/

* * *

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First, let me start by thanking you for taking your time to read this story and hope it's to your liking. Second, I'm a long time reader but first time writer of fanfic, so by all means feel free to critique my work. All constructive criticism is profoundly welcomed and appreciated.

So what's this all about? As anyone who saw both Attack on Titan and Pacific Rim, I inevitably started drawing parallels between the two; Jaegers, giant monsters attacking out of nowhere, walls that don't work, closing breaches, fanboy scientists, badass Asian girls, all that jazz.

The idea of a crossover between the two is nothing new by the time I'm typing this. There's in fact a good number of stories and fanart lurking the internet (and this very site) revolving around this concept. But one thing I noticed is that all of them (or at least the ones I saw) follow the same formula of "take characters from AoT, put them in PR's setting".

As you can likely tell from the intro crawl right above, I'm trying for something a little different than that. I won't go into more details, as they will be fleshed out during the story, but for now think of the premise as a bad ending to PR turned into a AoT style scenario set in a near future.

Also, it goes without saying that AoT and PR are the property of their respective owners. _I claim nothing._


	2. A Meeting

**_The Hohenthron_**

**_The Swiss Alps, Citadel Maria_**

**_November 1st, 2145 – Two years ago_**

_Disaster._

He found people frantically repeating that word everywhere he went for the past two months. Yet, as reports from the front kept making their way to him, it was an increasingly grave understatement of the state of affairs.

For him, the past eight weeks had been a battle of a different sort, against the red hydra of governmental bureaucracy, painstakingly going through all legal channels, and calling a few favors on the side, just to be there. For all his wishful thinking, though, he never would've imagined that he would actually be given access to the inner sanctum of the vast mountain complex. A place where the whims of twelve individuals dictated the lives of every human being on the planet (or what little part they still held on to).

The large cubical room was dark, the only source of light available being the circular fixture mirroring the equally round hollow conference table and the oversized array of monitors hanging slightly tilted from the wall. He had taken his place alongside the other eleven darken figures, almost like they were purposefully trying to conceal their identities, using the seat reserved for the chronically absent twelfth member of the cabal.

The main cause of apprehension, and the reason he was there, was displayed on the central and largest of the myriad of screens. A map of what was once the European portion of the old Soviet Republic, delimited by the red lines representing Olga's walls, plus small sections of Petka's and Kinga's. A looping animation showed a blue blob spreading inland, from a small point in Wall's southern perimeter which hugged the Black Sea coastline, akin to the ocean during a tsunami (a rather fitting analogy given the circumstances). At the end of the loop, corresponding with the present day, it smeared the entire right side of the Citadel's western border and looked to be expanding eastwards.

"In short, ladies and gentlemen, Olga is now completely cut off from land and, given the state of affairs in the Citadel, I very much doubt the situation can be reversed pending any action from our end." — the High Constable of the Guard finished his lengthy report, noticeably weary and dismayed by news he had to relay to his peers.

"Then why haven't we acted yet!? I want those monstrosities driven out of my land! Send whatever forces we have at our disposal!" — predictably, the man that held the highest authority in that region was deeply angered by the ever evolving state of affairs.

"You do well in remember that none of us are one of your lackeys back in Moscow for you to order around." — although the only one to speak out, her colleagues' posture indicated she was doing so for all of them — "Why should we waste our resources trying to save your precious little kingdom?"

"We cannot simply abandon one of the Citadels to them! Certainly not the largest one!" — he argued, with some merit.

"It wouldn't be the largest, if you vodka-for-brains had implemented the Partition like you were ordered to do. We stand to lose over half our territory because of your short-sighted power mongering."

"Would the esteemed Castellan from Kinga please enlighten me as to how I could've done anything? I seem to recall I wasn't born a century ago."

"Your eagerness to correct your predecessors'... mistakes... left MUCH to be desired." — it was the Warden-Marshal turn to voice his own displeasure in his sharp and sly tone.

"My hands were tied, Marshal. I alone am responsible for a third of the entire human population, the vast majority of whom had much bigger concerns than Kaiju, two months ago. Such frivolous waste of capital would not be allowed by my citizens, not when there was no clear need for it." — the justification was fairly ludicrous. Castellans ruled their Citadels as bonafide dictators; the common folk on the street had no voice whatsoever in any of the decision making.

"Poor is the Shepherd who shears his flock bare and blames it for dying of cold." — with his booming voice, the Grand Ecclesiarch snapped back at his excuses with an appropriate quasi-biblical verse.

"And sensible is the Shepherd who sues the carpenter who built his fence and proclaimed it to be impregnable, when his sheep are now getting eaten." — by far the youngest member of those assembled, not even in his mid-twenties, his youthful mannerism was a heavy contrast to that of the grizzled men and women that surrounded him.

"I'm glad you're taking this issue with the proper maturity one would expect from a member of this council, Mr. Stahl." — though he had a proper title like everyone else, his family had held it since its inception so the name eventually became synonymous with the position of Speaker of the Consortiums.

"All I'm saying is cut the poor man some slack. Fattening your pockets tends to leave you with your pants hanging low and catering to all your little minions is quite the time-consuming chore. More so when there're so many of them mooching off. You people more than anyone else should know all this. It's how the saying goes; Let he who's without sin,... umm? How does that one go again, Father?" — the not-at-all amused elder ignored the mocking young man's 'question'.

"Amusing as Mr. Stahl's attempts at humor are, he has a point."

"Someone agrees with me!? Heavens be praised, I think might yet found God after all, Father!" — the Ecclesiarch continued to pay no heed to the mockery.

"As I was saying..." — Petka's Castellan glared his interrupter, immediately repenting his previous statement — "Making a scapegoat out of my colleague won't solve anything. We need to stop this childlike finger pointing and focus on the present, not on what it could've been done." — a collection of hums signified everyone's assent — "Very well then. High Constable, what action is the Guard taking at the present moment?"

"Several of our divisions are being redeployed along the eastern perimeter of Kinga and Petka." — the large map shifted to said border, displaying several x-crossed rectangles converging to certain marked dots along the red line — "They're being concentrated in the vicinity of the inner Bastions, though after what transpired we cannot exclude the possibility that they could-"

"Will those forces be enough for a counterattack?" — Olga's Castellan interrupted the tired officer, to express his own priorities when it came to the Guard.

"No Castellan, they won't." — the Constable had to muster all his strength not to display irritation and remain professional, but the lack of rest was taking a toll on the battered old man. Being cut short again by the prickly Castellan didn't helped matters — "Without gutting our defenses along the outer Wall, I simply don't have enough men to even think about-"

"Then what of my people!? For God's sake, if you're willing to throw Olga to the jackals, why are none of you lifting a finger to help those stranded!? Hell, if the Guard needs bodies to throw in the grinder, I'm sure there's not going to be a lack of volunteers itching to try and get back their homes." — a shoddy attempt not to lose face as it might had been, the Castellan brought up a very poignant point.

"Sheltering that many and supplying such a build up of our military would put a significant strain on our available industrial and agricultural capacity, the latter of which is currently in critical deficiency. You should be aware that despite our best efforts to ease in the new rationing quotas, we're already experiencing small scale rioting in the bottom to lower-middle ranking districts, where the curtailment is more severe. What you propose would require extending theses measures even further, which atop the increased tumult would result in an economic crash, and expanding them to the Guard itself, which would almost certainly lead to a mutiny." — in a methodical pace, the Lord Chancellor intervened in the Constable's place, giving a pragmatic retort to the Castellan's 'plan'.

"Nothing my men wouldn't be able to handle." — the Marshal assured her colleague.

"I'm sure you would love to have such an excuse, Marshal." — given the animosity between the two branches, it's not at all surprising that thought didn't sit well with the Constable.

"Regardless of the OSS's effectiveness in quelling any additional uproar, the main point stands: we are at a breaking point and we can ill afford any other hindrance." — the Chancellor finished.

"Hindrance!? 240 million are an hindrance to you!? Some unwanted variable in your equations and charts, that you can just cast aside!? Like you did when those same millions came to your gates, pleading for their lives, and you left them closed!?"

"Callous as it might be, Castellan, you should comprehend that the remaining Citadels can scarcely sustain themselves without Olga's farming and raw material production. A fact you yourself would often tout high and proudly not two months ago, as a symbol of your... 'sovereignty' from this council."

"Ah yes, I remember. 'Humanity's last beacon of freedom and democracy'." — Stahl snickered at his own remark — "Good God, the Americans must be rolling in their graves."

"Is that what this is!? A convenient pretext to exact punishment, to make an example of those who have defied your rule!? Through extermination!?" — Olga's Castellan was beside himself with anger, and understandably so — "What does your _conscience_ tell you whenever it starts questioning your own humanity!?"

"Our _conscience_? It's yours that should be gnawing that thick skull. Dissent and sedition grew like a weed throughout your domain, yet you reveled in your own inaction. Those degenerates spread like a cancer under the umbrella of your insubordination towards the rightful authority. We're are salvaging the mess YOU, and those before, allowed to be created." — the sheer displeasure that the Warden-Marshal irradiated swiftly quelled the peevish man, who nevertheless stood to his guns.

"I'll be damn if I ever let your little band of Nazis have a say in my jurisdiction."

"Damnation is what's befalling those you govern so inaptly! There was rot creeping, feasting on the insides of your realm, yet you willfully chose to ignore it! You let the black sheep roam the pasture freely and now it let the wolves inside!" — with a thunderous bawl, the Grand Ecclesiarch once more made his dissatisfaction heard.

"Is that who we're going to blame for this mess? Those guys? Wow, real original people."

"Do you have a better culprit, Stahl?"

"Two Kaiju come to mind."

"Thoughtless fool!" — the Church's Head hollowed — "You know well enough we can't divulge that! Faith in the Wall is paramount to maintain order amongst the woeful masses! We shall not add to their plight!"

"Faith in your reverent fence won't change the fact that with them, and God knows how many more alike lurking around, the freaking thing might as well be made of bloody cardboard. Truth is, we let the frickin' elephant sit in the room for way too long and now none of you geezers as any idea how to deal with all the shit it left on the carpet."

"You impertinent... I suppose you have a solution then?"

"Not really, but pardon me for wanting an actual resolution to this conundrum. Particularly one that doesn't just involve cutting our losses, cowering behind our glass wall and praying none of this shit repeats itself. 132 years later, is that really the best we can do?" — for all the belittling he received on account of his laxity, none of the those present could give the young man an answer other than a worry filled, deafening silence — "Pffft. Just like we did before, eh?"

None, except one.

"Did we not fought as well?" — the normally vacant twelfth seat became the focus as its user finally decided to intervene, to accomplish what he had set out to do — "I ask you this, gentlemen; did we accept this fate lying down? When the monsters came, did we not stand? When our world began to crumble, did we not endure? When we looked up at the face of death, did we not rise to the challenge? We are here, defeated yet alive, because we fought... as we must fight now, lest we allow them to finish their task."

"I was beginning to wonder why the room felt more cramped than usual." — Stahl mused while smiling mischievously — "Though, if my memory serves me correctly, wasn't the First Ranger suppose to be blond?"

"Yes, a visitor such as yourself is indeed a rare sight within the confines of this chamber. What's the purpose of your presence?" — the Marshal inquired, suspicious but nonetheless curious by the intrusion.

"To answer the only question that matters." — Stacker Pentecost rose to his feet, both hands resting on the table. A document folder was brought up to his face level, which gave the eleven most powerful men and women in the world a good view of the title plastered on the cover, prompting faint gasps among several of them.

"What will it take to grab the beast by the throat and drag it back to the Hell from where it crawled?"

/-/-/

* * *

Just a little appetizer that serves as a prologue of sorts for the actual Chapter 1, which I should post in the coming weekend at the earliest.


	3. Chapter 1:What Remains (That Day)

**Chapter 1:****What Remains/That Day**

* * *

It was hard to breathe. The back of my throat was dry and my leg muscles ached. I had been running it seemed. Not very far in all likelihood since I was painfully aware that my physical endurance left something to be desired. Bent over myself, I tried to catch my breath while staring at the filthy ground of the alleyway I had ran into for some reason. I sensed someone approaching from behind.

_Mikasa._

My surprise stemmed not from the fact my sister was there with me, but rather how she looked. Her black hair was still over shoulder length and her overall physique was less thin (that is to say: not malnourished) than I had come to be accustomed to. She was wearing a white dress shirt underneath a lemon yellow light sleeveless sweater together with a dark pink broomstick skirt and a terracotta jacket hanging from her hand, all of them neatly clean. The red scarf was still there though. It was always there.

I merely acknowledged her presence with a quick nod. In contrast to my sorry ass state, she didn't seem tired at all despite having to catch up while carrying the heavy-looking bag on her right hand. We emerged out of the alley unto a bustling city street lit by the day's last rays of sunlight peering over that blemish on the urban scenery, on Humanity's dignity.

_That pen they call wall._

Those living under its ever engulfing shadow went on with their daily routines, wholly indifferent to the Wall's presence and the disgrace it represented. The roads were chock-full with vehicles stuck in an unbearable stop-and-go crawl through the hedge-maze of buildings as another workday was coming to an end. Neither myself nor Mikasa had the temper to pack themselves into one of the overcrowded trams running at that hour, so instead we silently decided to walk the rest of the way home...

_"It's gone."_

_What did you say?_

_"Zhiganshina... Home..._ _It's gone, remember? All of this is gone."_

_That's right..._

The voice was a memento. This was but another dream, a memory part of me realized.

_That day..._

"Do you still planning on doing it?" — my sister broke the up until then hushed stride.

"What if I am?" — I dismissively threw back the question. It was none of her business.

"You're not going to reconsidering it, even after all you saw back there?"

_Back there... _

_The returning military convoy._..

S_uch a pitiful spectacle... _

A procession of 8-wheel hexagonal shaped light tanks slowly disembarking from their airborne transport cages unto the landing strip of the small airfield. They were littered with dents and irregular tears in their armor and the massive guns they carried were bent at odd angles, with many essentially reduced to nothing but scrap metal. The soldiers themselves weren't in a pristine condition either, looking as battered and wrecked as the vehicles they had been riding in. The distinct black and hunter green of their combat uniforms was tainted with light red and white from the overabundance of bloody cloths covering their injuries, ranging from cuts and bruises in every spot imaginable to broken and severed limbs. Their gaze was unfocused and distant, many didn't seem to have gotten any kind of sleep in the past few days, the expressions on their faces were overall gloomy and reserved.

"I'm not that weak-minded . And neither am I afraid of getting hurt, if that's what you are implying."

"What about your family? Your friends? Will they not be concerned for your well-being? Do you want that mother's grief to be your parent's should the worst happen?"

_"My son. My poor boy. Where is he!? Please, d-did something happened to him!? Tell me where he is! I beg of you! For the love of God, someone tell me...!"_

In the midst of it all, an old-aged woman ran alongside the fence delimiting the aerodrome, frantically pleading to the men and women on the other side for news about her son.

_"He's dead, ma'am."_

I was close enough to hear one of the soldiers finally addressing her. Bewildered by the blunt statement, her speech collapsed into a fit of hysterical crying, witnessed with a mix of pity and aversion by the curious crowd that had gathered at the adjacent grounds to watch their arrival.

_Was I running away from that?_

"You make it sound like it's a death sentence."

"You saw the state those soldiers came back in, after one single outing. There's a good reason they have to resort to convicts." — the great vanguard of Mankind, reduced to a bunch of criminals conscripted against their will to make up for the shortage of volunteers. An infuriating truth.

"Because everyone else is a blabbering herd-mentality moron being spoon-fed nonsense by those charlatans in charge. Preferring the comfortable humiliation of living like sheep, happily gorging on the fodder the Government and the Church provides. To them this is just a way to get rid of the undesirables, those who don't fit their mold." — I spat out in response.

"Like you?"

"Yeah... like me." — a lost soul in need of guidance at best, or an ungrateful brat out there to stir up problems at worst.

That's how most saw me. I had to endure the constant ridicule and torment from the other kids, brainwashed by the faculty, which often escalated into fistfights if Mikasa wasn't around to scare them off. The adults were little better, jumping on me with heavy punishments for the lightest of transgressions and subtlety condoning my peers' behavior, while at the same time patronizing my views.

"So you play right into the hands of those you despise."

"Guess I've to, don't I? It pisses me off, but someone has to take up the fight against the world we've been confined into. A cage is a cage, doesn't matter what kind of bars it has." — to see the outside, beyond the Wall, to trek across the land were Humanity once prospered before it was stolen from us. My utmost desire.

She spoke no more after that. Mikasa, more than anyone else, understood my yearning and the inability any words would've in changing my mind about it. It didn't stop her from trying, though. My safety was always at the top of her priorities after all, despite my resolve. She just hoped I would at least reflect on my options a bit more thoroughly.

The rest of the trip would've gone by silently if, roughly two-thirds of the way to our destination, we hadn't come across one of the many small military outposts scattered across the Bastion.

"Yo! Er*hiccup*en! Mikasa!" — which in itself didn't garner much contemplation till we heard a familiar voice calling for us — "You kids don't *hiccup* greet your acquaintances anymore!?"

Turning our heads to the left, we saw Hannes' recognizable blond-haired figure excitedly waiving his hand to catch our attention. With no way of avoiding him now, we approached the caterpillar-tracked Komondor he was awkwardly climbing off of to greet us. If his slurred speech, rose cheeks and untidy uniform were any indication, along with the numerous alcohol cans littering the vehicle's hood, he and the three other guardsmen had apparently been passing the time by playing cards and merrily getting drunk on the job. Again.

"Shouldn't you be sober?" — I dispensed common courtesy as I figured it would be wasted with the Captain's current intoxicated state.

"Shouldn't you *hiccup* be in school?" — Hannes replied with a mischievous smile on his face — "What kinda way is that to address your seniors?"

"We're on holidays." — the only worthwhile thing about the upcoming festivities centering around '_His_ _Most Holy Architect_', as the Church lackeys like to call him — "If you weren't constantly plastered while on duty maybe you would remember that."

"Ah crap Cap, he caught us! Quick, somebody grab him before he files a complaint!" —the side shaved, olive skinned guardsman of the group snidely expressed his concern, much to the enjoyment of the rest and Hannes' mild embarrassment.

"Geez Eren, give us a break. You've any idea how boring this is?"

"It's your job."

"And it's being taken care of. Watch. Corporal Lysenko!" — the Captain bellowed in his most authoritative voice while facing his men — "Survey the perimeter!"

Acknowledging him, the tall guardsman with curly brown hair and unshaven face rose to his feet, slothfully pulling himself up by grabbing the underside of the Komondor's massive artillery cannon. He took a pair of rectangular binoculars strapped to the side rail of the vehicle and used them to survey the surroundings like instructed.

"Any Kaiju in the vicinity?" — Hannes inquired after a short time.

"Nope." — the Corporal nonchalantly stated as he sat down.

"See? We're doing our jobs. You can't exactly expect us to be very active if there's no Kaiju roaming around the Bastion." — going back to his casual tone, the blond man victoriously declared.

"And if they were? What would you do then?"

"Simple. We piss ourselves, panic and get the hell out of here." — the group jokester remarked, earning him another round of laughter from his colleagues. Unlike his men, however, Hannes at least took my concerns with a bit more seriousness.

"We talk about this before Eren, there's no need for you to lose sleep over this. The Guard as an entire division worth of firepower stationed throughout Zhiganshina, plus..." — he signaled Lysenko for the binoculars which he then handed to me, pointing at certain several spots on the Wall — "See those? 1.5 meter caliber, 60 meter barrel long, 12 ton shell-using Kaiser-Gustav's. A single one of those beauties is designed to one-shot a Category 2 and we have enough of them here to even bring down a Category 3." — despite the distance, the protrusions on the Wall where the massive canons were placed could still be seen without any aid.

"And that's if they can get inside. Considering that the Wall is been holding them for a century, I think we'll be just fine, kid. I mean, what are the odds of those bastards getting in now?" — the third soldier, a fairly stocky woman with short light black hair, added her own thoughts, trying to further reassure me.

"Don't say stuff like that, Svet. That's the kinda shit people say right before it hits the fan. You're gonna jinx us." — Lysenko observed.

"I'm just trying to give the kid some peace of mind, you superstitious idiot." — she snapped back.

"I'll be fine, thank you." — I didn't mean that in the slightest and it most likely showed in the face I was making. I was sick and tired of people trivializing my fears, above all else by invoking the Wall's protection like it's everlasting and infallible.

"Well, aren't you cranky today." — Hannes turned to Mikasa — "Why is your brother so grumpy?"

"We saw the Corps returning a while ago." — she responded.

"The Hounds? Ain't that always a depressing sight. Poor souls." — Svet lamented while shaking her head.

"It's nothing those bloody criminals don't deserve. At least this way they go out there and try to do something useful, rather than wasting the rest of their lives rotting away in a jail cell. They've balls, I'll give them that." — her hard-nosed partner conceded.

"Not all of them are criminals, some volunteer." — she pointed out.

"And we thank them for taking themselves out of the gene pool and let other sane, law-abiding men and women fill their belies aplenty. Unselfishly becoming Kaiju chow for the greater good of Mankind." — the comedian jested yet again — "Seriously, how gullible do you have to be to fall for that whole 'take the fight to them' crap? You'd be better off eating a bullet than joining the Kaiju Feeding Cor-AAAAARGH!"

The binoculars were meant to hit him in the head. Too bad my aim wasn't that great and instead they ended up landing on his lap. They did manage, on the other hand, to knock out a couple of the containers, spilling their content all over the cards resting on the vehicle's hood.

"The hell is your problem you little asshole!? These cards are vintage, do have any idea what they're worth!?" — I didn't, and I didn't care. I paid no more heed to the now fuming clown and the other slightly stunned guardsmen and continued to head home — "Hey, get back here! Hey...!"

"Leave the pipsqueak, it's not worth it."

"Do you know how much these frickin cost me!? Besides what the hell are we suppose to do now!? The little twerp spilled all of the alcohol over the cards, they're soaked!"

"Can it, Samuels!" — the last I heard of the conversation was Hannes telling his subordinate to shut up — "What's wrong with him?" — he wondered out loud.

"Just a bad day." — Mikasa replied before following me.

_We had no idea how true that would rang._

In hindsight, I couldn't help but to think that Corporal Lysenko had a point when he accused his partner of tempting fate.

/-/-/

/-/-/

_)))So praise the Lord, for you live this day(((_

_)))So praise the Lord, for such is His will(((_

_)))So praise the Lord, for it stood, it stands and it will stand(((_

_)))Then, now and forever(((_

_)))His citadel(((_

_)))His ark(((_

_)))His shield against the foul demonic that plagues the outside(((_

_)))Against the beasts that rose from damnation, to lay waste to the frail work of Men(((_

_)))Men, whose hubris led him to believe that the world was his(((_

_)))Whose folly led him to ravage it as he saw fit(((_

_)))For is the demon not but an echo of one's sin?((( _

_)))Yes(((_

_)))For are we not guilty of squandering His given dominion?(((_

_)))Yes(((_

_)))For are we not fated to meet our end at the hands of the Beast?((( _

_)))NO(((_

_)))For He did as he had done to Noah, a century gone by(((_

_)))For He blessed His Most Reverend Architect with our salvation(((_

_)))For He drove His devout masses to rise it from the earth(((_

_)))And so it came to be((( _

_)))The blessed Wall, embracing the heavens above(((_

_)))Stronger than the beasts that seek to defile these grounds, His Seven Daughters(((_

_)))Thus, we shall, NAY, we must honor him(((_

_)))Impossible it may be to express sufficient gratitude for this unworthy mercy(((_

_)))So praise the Lord, for we are His flawed children still(((_

_)))So praise the Lord, for He is absolution made manifest(((_

_)))So praise the Lord, for you shall live in peace(((_

I could think of more pleasant sounds I had rather awaken to.

Unlike last time, sensation returned to my lethargic body nearly instantly, along with the same excruciating migraine in spite of the abundance of rest I had in the meantime. What was left of my wrecked self happily joined in to make me feel even more miserable, none more so than my missing arm oddly enough. For a brief moment, I maintained the far-fetched belief that it was still there, that all had been a figment of my imagination.

It obviously turned out to be wishful thinking. My right hand felt nothing but the wrinkled bed sheets beneath me when I took it to the other side of my chest. I vaguely recalled the concept of phantom pain, as Father had describe to me once, but I hadn't imagine that it would hurt more than the rest.

It was an easy guess that I was still in the same hospital room as before, a fact confirmed shortly thereafter by smell, sounds and white light my senses were picking up. I perched himself up straight on the bed and with my one available eye scanned the surroundings more meticulously, particularly keen in finding the source of that obnoxious religious drivel.

Quick to catch my attention was the giant banner on the opposite facade of the Hospital's inner courtyard, to which the room had a decent view of through the large wall window on my right. In it, seven maidens, all clad in simple white robes, formed a semicircle around a pit of light blue flames from which impish looking creatures, almost cartoon-like in appearance, menacingly emerged. Each woman was holding a large rectangular silver shield, firmly planted on the ground with both hands gripping the top, which kept the devils at bay.

That detail in the iconic picture kept bugging me. None of the maidens carried anything but their shield, nothing that could slay the demons that were rising from the pit. As a child, I had always been alarmed by the prospect of the demons growing in number to the point they could pile atop of each other and simply go over the shield wall to get to the ladies. Most adults never took this 'infantile' fear of mine seriously, equating it with that of an imaginary monster hiding in the closet.

_"Just like her."_

It was astonishing how people were still clinging to the same type of church sponsored tripe, that they were still buying it even after all that transpired. That pen they pinned all their hopes on had failed, yet they insisted in its illusionary protection. If the situation wasn't so fucked up, it would be downright laughable how much they were duping themselves with such fantasies.

_"Just like her."_

Truth of the matter was that, given the circumstances, the picture was terribly outdated. One of the shields should be cracked and the monsters should be attacking the maiden behind it, slowly devouring her alive... ravaging her flesh... tearing her apart limb by limb... while she futility screamed for the others to save her.

_"Just like her."_

"Aaaargh!" — I forcibly interrupted my own train of thoughts. That accursed echo resonated again, digging out memories I wished stayed deep within my mind. The migraine was already painful as it was.

"Hmmm..." — someone's slurred speech caught my attention. At the corner of the room, to my left, someone was peacefully sleeping over a small desk, face buried between the arms cushioning it with only the back of the blond-haired head standing out. It was enough to identify him.

"Armin." — I faintly called him out, but my voice was too weak to be heard through the blaring sermon — "Armin." — I kept insisting, this time obtaining an incoherent mumble — "Armin."

"5... more... minu... hmmmmm." — the blond lazily grumbled while adjusting his head on the improvised pillow.

"ARMIN!" — the shout came out louder than I had anticipated, which made my friend leap out of his chair.

"Gaaaah!" — startled and disoriented, he nearly tripped and fell down when he awkwardly stood up, regaining his bearings once he noticed the awaken patient — "E-Eren...!?"

"Yeah..." — I dully responded while rubbing my eye, relieved by the welcome sight of seeing Armin alive. A steadily rarer pleasure in those days — "Could you turn that crap off?" — he quickly figured out what his bedridden friend was referring to and switched off the portable radio on top of the table he had been snoozing in.

He was wearing a long sleeve beige shirt with, somewhat tight, gunmetal grey cargo pants tucked into khaki combat boots. Hanging from the back of the chair was the standard double-breasted, waist-length, feldgrau (synthetic) wool jacket used by the members of the Guard, adorned with its insignia on the back and Saint Olga's bust on both upper sleeves.

"Uh..." — unsure on what to do, Armin looked at me attentively while the silence persisted — "Are you feeling okay? Want me to call a nurse, a doctor or...?"

"No, just..." — I didn't want to deal with any doctors and that sort just yet — "...where are we?"

"In a hospital."

"I noticed that already! Where!?" — I scratched my head in irritation. Even if I hadn't figured it out the first I woke up, the fact that Armin mentioned a nurse and a doctor made it obvious what kind of place we were in. The blond cowered a little due to the sudden outburst, though it wasn't my intention to snap at him like that.

"A-Arkhangelsk. Inside the Bastion." — that was quite a long way north, which begged the question...

"How long was I asleep?"

"A month and a half, more or less." — one would be easily mistaken into believing several years had passed judging by the serenity of the place compared to that Hell, and Armin's beaten expression which made him look much older than he was.

"That much, huh? I remember waking up beforehand, sort off. Do you know what happened?" — everything past finding out about my missing limbs was a complete blank.

"Ah, that. Well... the staff heard screaming coming from this room and when they came rushing in to check you out, you apparently responded aggressively so they had to restrain you with sedatives. That was five days ago. There's not much else I can tell you about it since neither of us was in the room when-"

"Us?"

"Me and Mikasa." — he responded as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

"Oh. Of course she had to come too. Stupid of me for not figuring that out." — I let a small giggle escape my lips, out of self-deprecation. Given that fact, I was surprised Armin was the one he was having this conversation with. My sister was the type that would willingly withstand a 45 day long vigil by the bedside, just so she could keep an eye on me. Thoughts turn darker as I pondered what her absence might imply — "Where is she? Is she hurt?"

"She's okay. Maybe a little shaken when you came out of..." — he hesitated, not wanting remind neither of us of the circumstances that led us there — "... when we found you, we all were. But she's back to normal since then, to me at least. I'm not very good at telling her mood." — I knew her better than Armin did, so I had quite more practice in that aspect.

And she was definitely vexed.

I could grasp the telling nuances in her 'neutral' expression, the same one she was donning when the door next to Armin suddenly slid open. Not that I blamed her for being like that, even after all that time. She was dressed in the same uniform as Armin, with her jacket closed despite the heat inside, plus the ever-present red scarf around her neck, dangling to her chest. Her hair had slightly grown in length since last time and was a lot less messier.

"Good evening, Mr. Jaeger. How are feeling today?" — before any of us could utter a word, two more figures emerged from the hallway right behind her; a tall elderly man and a younger, sterner looking woman, donning a white long coat and bluish green scrubs respectively. The latter carried a large plastic briefcase and had a very noticeable bandage covering the majority of her nose.

With all the cordiality one would expect from his profession, the doctor began quizzing his patient about an assortment of symptoms I could be experiencing while giving me a thorough physical examination. It reminded me of those torturous interrogation sessions Mother and Father would subject me to every time I faked a fever to skip school.

It went on for the better part of an half-hour before the doctor was satisfied with the tests, at which point he gave me the full diagnosis (at my request); amputated left arm, lower left leg and right foot, a punctured lung, liver, and intestines, multiple deep lacerations, over two dozen broken bones, a concussion, frostbite burns over half my body and, lastly, over 75% loss of sight in my left eye.

"Geez, is that all?" — little wonder I felt like crap. Half that stuff seemed it could've kill me on their own.

"Young man, do have any idea how much of an utter miracle it is that you're alive!?" — my apparent lack of concern didn't sit well with the old man who briefly lost his professional composure — "Even if we crossed out every condition I enumerated just now, you were still covered head-to-toe in Blue. Medically speaking, it should be impossible for you to be breathing or, hell, moving a muscle for that matter. You should be dead." — maybe I am and this is just my brain's attempt to rationalize my demise. Something of a wishful aftermath.

"Is that why I'm in a comfy room rather than rotting in some overcrowded field hospital? Because I'm some sort of zombie... something you can't explain? Nothing but a guinea pig for you people?"

"It shames me to admit as an health official, but you're mostly correct. Your... unique lack of symptoms for Blue Poisoning is why they bothered shipping you from the front in the first place. That and the boys upstairs seem to have deemed you a war hero of sorts in the meantime. They must have big plans for you."

"Great, so I'm going to be turned into some glorified poster boy? Just wonderful." — I couldn't decide if the idea sounded revolting or laughable. Both, perhaps.

"It has its perks, trust me. Particularly this one..." — he made a signal to the nurse who promptly placed the large rectangular briefcase on the end of the bed and opened it. Both Armin and I leaned forward to have a peek at the contents.

"An arm?" — an uncanny human looking one at that. Only the metallic extensions coming out of the upper section gave a hint of its artificiality, the rest could've easily pass off as genuine.

"State of the art bionics" — the doctor proudly stated — "Adaptive EAP muscles, near perfect sense of touch replication, regenerative skin... it will be like you never lost it in the first place."

"Guess a cripple wouldn't make for very rousing propaganda." — the silver lining was fine and all, but I still didn't like the upcoming prospect one bit.

"After what you went through, I would try not to complain. Most disabled veterans these days aren't entitled to a brand new limb, or even a warm bed. The brass considers this kind of technology to be too expensive to be wasted on their cannon fodder." — there was a perceptible hint of disgust in his voice — "I know you probably don't like it kid, but they're the ones paying for your new arm. Not to mention it's by their 'good graces' that your two able bodied companions here weren't sent back to that slaughterhouse. All of that can change if they aren't happy with your attitude."

_Play along or else._ That was the gist the doctor was conveying. One snap of the fingers and the three of us would be sent back to find the bloody grave that eluded us back then. Armin and Mikasa were only out of that hellhole, and by extent alive, so just they could buy my obedience.

"Anyway, the remaining parts are already prepared and I've arranged the last details with your sister, so we'll have the surgery first thing tomorrow morning. I know you had enough as it is, but try to get some more sleep until then." — he closed the container before handing it back to his assistant — "Also, you owe the nice nurse here an apology. She was the first to arrive when you woke up for the first time and you nearly bit her nose off for her troubles."

"Uh... sorry about that." — Armin did say I acted aggressively, but... damn. The nurse had been looking at me in a funny way that whole time, but at least she cordially smiled when I apologized.

"Get some rest, Mr. Jaeger. We'll see you tomorrow. That means you two." — the doctor not-so-subtly gestured to the other two occupants of the room. Heeding his advice, they followed the two adults into the hallway...

However, I couldn't relax just yet. There was still something that was bothering me too much.

"You really going to leave without saying anything?" — she had stood in the corner up till then, and now she was leaving without uttering a word. I had hope that she would speak up first since I didn't want to start the conversation, but her silence was driving me mad.

"Is there something I have to say?" — sensing the sudden heavy atmosphere, Armin took the cue and hurriedly excused himself out of the room, leaving brother and sister to talk alone.

"I don't buy the solemn silence. You're angry, I can tell that. So go ahead, out with it." — I didn't care what she would say. At that point, I just wanted her to speak to me.

"I've little interest in reassuring you of your perceived guilt. You didn't kill them."

"I LEAD THEM TO THEIR DEATHS!" — my body quivered due to the scream — "Don't you dare tell me you have nothing to say about that!"

"There's no point. All of them made their choice, and they chose to follow you."

"Follow me. Some dumb kid with delusions of exacting retribution on those accursed things. As if he would actually make a difference in the middle of this genocide, where millions of others are being massacred. To think I gave her all that flak for living in a fantasy world." — I chuckled wryly — "It's all a sick joke. I drag them to that Hell, get them all killed, and I'm called what? A hero? For being eaten alive?"

"For surviving."

"Is that worthy of a medal now!? Are we dying that easily!?"

"You were there, you got to see it for yourself."

"And so did you. After all I did. After all I said. Why?" — she didn't respond — "Why did you have to come!? You should've stayed there! You should've left me alone! You should've...!" — she should've... yet she still...

"...let you die? Is that what you wish for? You instead?"

"Were there any justice in this world... or are you going to convince me otherwise? That I am the one who deserved to stay alive after all that happened? That I can... that I even want to-"

I suddenly found myself without breath. Grabbing me by the throat with one arm, Mikasa effortlessly forced me to lie back down. Her face hovering above mine at arm's length, eyes wide open and filled with murderous intent as she tightened the vice grip. I pathetically flailed my arm and legs around, trying to dislodge the choke-hold, but it didn't budge.

_It's no use. _

Even with both arms and without my wounds, I could never hope to match her strength. If she was dead set on choking me to death, I simply couldn't stop her. I was completely at her mercy. Before long, I began to slowly drift back into the blackness and my struggle ceased.

"Are you going to let me kill you this easily? Do you think your death is that vindicated?" — her face lingered closer until her breath washed over mine — "You'll let her sacrifice go to waste? How pathetic."

_I... never asked... for it..._

"Have you forgotten what the doctor said earlier? If you die now, what's keeping me and Armin from going back?"

_Back... to that place... somewhere like it..._

"You're not as naive as you were the first time. You know what's going to happen this time, don't you?"

_Their faces... Their screams... The horror..._

"That's the reality we live in, all we've been reduced to in the end, isn't it?"

_The bright abyss... The blue sun... The cold embrace..._

"Food... _just like her_."

My insides erupted. Before I knew it, my fist was being repeatedly planted on her left cheek, a small trace of blood escaping the corner of her mouth as a result. Of course, Mikasa didn't even flinch from the flurry of punches, remaining perfectly still as if I had been striking a brick wall.

"There you are." — she sneers faintly when I tired himself out. Apparently satisfied, she loosened her grip and stepped away, allowing me to breath normally.

"What was that!?" — it took a while, in between fits of cough, for me to speak again.

"Proving a point."

"Which was?"

"You do want to live." — short and concise, typical of her — "You just needed someone to refresh your memory. You aren't one to give up, to welcome death just yet. Not until you can make them pay for what they did." — she wasn't wrong in that regard, but...

"It won't wash the blood from my hands. It won't stop them from killing more of us."

"You think you're the only one angry at your own powerlessness? Seeing what little you've have in this cruel world being taken away and could do nothing about it? Knowing that when you inevitably face them again you will be just as helpless as you were then? Do you?"

I couldn't answer her.

"Yes Eren, I am angry. So much in fact that I even can't stand to look at you. Lying in that bed... more bandages than skin... mutilated... in pain! Kept safe solely on the whims of those who see you as a tool to exploit rather than a human being. But none of it matters. You're alive. A miracle, a statistical impossibility, whatever you want to call it, you came back when none of them did. I won't let you throw that away."

She was just as frustrated with the situation as I was. I wouldn't get the vengeance I sought so easily. That illusion had been shattered on those violet streets. But to lie down, brooding like the defeatists I loathed all my life, was unacceptable. Futile it might be, I owed them, her above all, to carry on the struggle.

"You're an idiot Eren, the biggest one I know. You've been so ever since I met you.

Perhaps I shouldn't forgive you, but I can't find it in myself not to do so. You and Armin are all, ALL I have left. I can't... I won't lose my whole world... not again."

How egotistical of me, to have forgot. Such loss wasn't anything new to her. They were her friends, Armin's as well, and they were gone. Cut down by those monsters. Too have nearly lose me also...

"Sleep." — she said as the door slid shut.

/-/-/

/-/-/

"In the kitchen." — we heard her voice as soon as we arrived. It came from the farthest corner of the modest single story house, where its source was leaning over a wooden board filled with cut and uncut vegetables — "What took you so long?" — Mother asked.

_Again haunted by that day._

"It was rush hour." — partially true. Downtown traffic had been horrible as usual, but the main reason was that I decided to loaf around at that park by the hill again. Luckily, Mikasa went and pick up the items she wanted while I doze off, otherwise we would only be home by late evening.

"Reason why I asked you to go after lunch, to avoid it, and even then the round trip wouldn't have taken four hours." — cleaning her hands on her apron, she began to rummage through the bag, after Mikasa left it on the counter.

"We... we went on foot." — I kept tightening the rope around my neck.

"Through some filthy street it seems." — her eyes were pointed at the mud stains on my jacket and pants — "While making Mikasa carry all the weight herself. Honestly Eren, you could've at least split the load."

"That would slow us down even more, besides she can handle the weight." — my sister glared me with a '_the_ _gesture would've been appreciated_' look — "Why are you making a big deal out of it? You only needed that stuff to make dinner anyway."

"The issue here, mister, is that I gave you a task and instead of taking care of it right away you decided to slack off, like usual. You always drag your feet until the last possible moment. Your recent grades can certainly attest to that fact." — tried as I might, I wasn't very good in hiding stuff from her. Even if she didn't flat out told me so, she was aware what the real cause of the delay was. My only comeback was a defeated hum as my eyes sank into the floor. While I like to think it wasn't intentional on my part, the sad innocent expression managed to shift Mother's stance from reprimanding to considerate — "Since you're on vacation, I'll let it slide this time." — she gently rubbed my hair — "Both of you, go chance into some clean clothes. You must be starving so I'll make you something to eat in the meanwhile."

Both of us went to their respective rooms and did what we were told. I kept the same wine red pullover I had taken earlier and merely replaced the dirty pair of charcoal pants with a similar one. By the time we returned to the kitchen, the smell of crisped bread hang in the air and he found simple ham toasts coupled with a glass of milk waiting in the dinner table. With an admitted lack of finesse due to my appetite, I began munching off large pieces of my toast, in betwixt gulps of milk, while Mikasa, who also maintained her attire, steadily attacked hers. Mother, in the meantime, had been busy preparing a bigger dose of food, that she placed on the opposite end of the table complemented with a cup of coffee.

"Morning." — blurting a loud yawn that caught everyone's attention, Father wandered into the kitchen half-awaken and without his glasses, which made the bags around his eyes all the more visible.

"It's four and a half." — Mikasa corrected him while taking a sip of milk.

"Oh... afternoon, then." — slightly disoriented, he turned to Mother — "Huh, Carla have you seen my glasses? I left them on the night stand when I went to bed."

"In the table, next to your late breakfast. Do have any idea how much grime I cleaned off of them? I'm surprised you were able to see two feet in front of you."

"Ah, thanks." — taking his seat, he opened the square-shape glasses and rested them on his nose and ears, immediately drinking half of the coffee-filled glass before nibbling his sandwich.

"You're welcome. Here." — she handed him his datapad, an opportunity she took to give him a soft kiss on the lips — "I'll go fetch your suitcase."

"Suitcase? You're leaving? Why? Where?" — he had never mentioned going on a trip until then.

"The heads of the Health Ministry are holding a conference up north and the Hospital board is sending me as the district representative. Dreary business all and all." — Father explained.

"Shouldn't one of the directors go instead of you? It's bad enough they keep putting you in the graveyard shift, even on the day you're supposed to leave." — Mother gave her opinion, sauntering back into the kitchen with the luggage in hand. She markedly hated when Father had to spend the night working rather than at home with his family, with her more than anyone else. It didn't create more friction between the two because she, being a pediatrician at the elementary school, also had her own struggles with the hierarchy.

"They say I have the most experience in dealing with these meetings. Besides, the bonus they hand out is quite nice and it's just for a couple of days."

"A couple of days to many if you ask me." — she sulkily added, dumping a large batch of squared bits of vegetables into a large cooking pot.

"If it's one of those 'all expenses paid' trip, you could always bring us along. None of us have to go to school for the next week, it's the perfect time for a family vacation." — I fancifully suggested, to which Mother rolled her eyes in wishful delight.

"The place I'm going to isn't exactly tourist friendly, to say nothing about the hosts." — though in all accounts a well respected doctor, much of what Father did had an atypical veil of secrecy shrouding it. Pry as I might, I could never make sense as to why that was since he and Mother were always very hush-hush about that topic, especially when it came to their past before they had emigrated to Zhiganshina. The sudden business trip did little to quell my suspicions — "Also, the idea of you three enjoying some fun and relaxation, while I'm stuck with a gang of decrepit old men vying for funding like a bunch children begging for sweets doesn't sound fair to me."

The conversation delved into regular small talk, mostly about what each one had been doing during the day or some current event. Mikasa, like usual, sat by quietly, only stating she had been with me all day (again like usual) and giving reserved answers about a certain topic. It was when Father casually inquired as to what I wanted to do, after rebuffing Mother's suggestion of making use of the rest of my holidays to catch up on my studies, that she decided to drop the bombshell.

"Eren wants to become a Ranger." — what truly brought the family chatter to an end wasn't Mikasa's out of the blue revelation of my intentions but the loud _thwack _the large kitchen knife in Mother's hand gave by nearly cutting the wooden board in half. Almost smugly, she serenely finished her glass of milk before someone dared to break the lingering quiet.

"W-Why did y...?" — I barely managed to articulate a response to her treachery.

"She's worried about you, and with good reason! What are you thinking!?" — Mother lashed out, predictably disturbed by the news. I was in for a mouthful.

"(Doing something with my life)." — I said under my breath, though she could still hear it. It was as if the whole world went silent so it could listen to our argument.

"By throwing it away!? We talked about this, if you want a career in the military you can join the Guard. Hannes could even pull some strings to help out to get you into the Academy."

"So I can pass the rest of my days getting drunk on the job? That's about the extent of a guardsman's duty I've seen."

"It's better than losing your life on some foolish revanchist quest!"

"It's about retaking what they stole from us!" — though fully aware that I was just feeding more fuel to the fire, part of me couldn't bear listening to that conformist crap without answering back. And so, our quarrel quickly devolved into a shouting match as neither of us was about to concede a point to the other on the matter.

It was hardly the first time we had done it, although the recent revelation upped the hostile tone severely. Mother, like the grand majority, believed that Humanity simply lacked the strength to reverse our losses and as such should look to consolidate what it could hold (meaning the Citadels), and make the most of what it had. Like a good little minion, she devotedly heeded all those cattle mentality sell-outs in the Government and Church circulating said line of thought. The few individuals that wanted to take a more active approach and actually take action against the Kaiju, against the jail they had caged us into, were slandered as 'ingrate warmongers' or 'out of touch agitators' by their opponents. Being in the mainstream opinion group meant Mother had more sources for arguments and therefore generally came out on top of our verbal spars. According to her, it's only her son's immaturity and thick wall of obstinacy that kept us from seeing eye to eye.

Much to Father's relief, who had been silently watching from the sidelines with Mikasa, a loud ringing noise coming from the entrance interrupted the escalating quarrel.

"Saved by the proverbial bell." — he shut down the datapad he had been keeping his focus on and slid it into one of the open briefcase's slots — "Looks like I won't be staying for the end of this little political scuffle."

"Grisha, for the love of God, talk with your son about this! You can't possibly condone his intentions!" — Mother frantically pleaded, while all three of us followed him through the main hall.

"Like I need yours or Father's approval! I can do whatever I want with my life!" — I boasted in open defiance to her objections.

"Not while I have a say, mister!" — she cut me off upon reaching the door and looked me closely in the eyes — "I'll be damned if I ever let you do something so foolish under my watch! You're not going through with this!"

"You can't keep me on a leash forever! You won't have a saying when I'm older... or if I'm thrown in jail for some reason. There won't be much you can do then, huh?" — the implication wasn't lost on her.

"Are even listening to what you're saying!?" — she shrieked in shock.

"Alas, Pandora had to open her box right when I won't be around to keep you two off each other throats." — Father lightheartedly mused while putting on his chestnut greatcoat.

"This isn't amusing in the slightest! It's our son's future we're talking about here!"

"If he's prepared to become a criminal just so he can join those fellows, then there's not much you and I can do to deter him."

"See!? Father agrees with me."

"Am I just to sit idly by while my child signs his death warrant!? Talk to him! Say... something! Anything!" — he didn't, instead producing a small silvery object from his coat's pocket and tossing it to me.

"What is this?" — holding it between my fingers, it appeared to be a strangely shaped metal cylinder with weird grooves running its length and a protruding pentagonal base in one end.

"A key. I'll show what it opens when I get back, so hold on to that. Try not mugging some old lady or robbing a bank in the meantime, okay?" — I nodded, fascinated by the simple yet puzzling object I was given — "Well, I got to get moving. See you in a few of days. Stay safe."

"You too, honey. Have a safe journey."

"Goodbye."

"Bye, Father."

He gave Mother a farewell kiss and stepped outside, heading straight to the parked limo outside where two large men clad in black suits awaited him. Halfway inside the vehicle, after one of the goons opened the door, he turned his head left to greet someone obscured by the surrounding fence.

"Good afternoon, Armin. Here to see Eren?"

"G-Good afternoon, Mr. Jaeger. I... um..." — coming into view by the entryway, the blond boy awkwardly tried to greet him back.

"Terribly sorry, I'm already running late. Give your grandfather my compliments."

"I-I will..." — before he could finish, Father was already inside the limo, along with the two bodyguards, which sped off down the street in a hurried pace.

Taking the chance, I swiftly grabbed my unclean taupe gray hooded jacket and raced towards Armin, who was still standing perplexed by the front entrance.

"Where are you going?" — Mother fumingly asked. I didn't bother to turn around to reply.

"Me and Armin have stuff to do."

"We have?"

"We do."

My even more confused friend barely managed to blurt out a protest when I dragged him away by the arm, leaving the two women alone by the door. The brief respite of Father's departure hadn't toned down our belligerent posture, so I figured both needed time out to cool down. Armin just so happened to offer a convenient pretext to storm off.

The sun was already well behind the Wall and the clouds above were getting grayer. It felt like it was going to rain that night.

/-/-/

/-/-/

"Quite the unique event, ain't it?" — I couldn't argue with that.

Some egghead had the bright idea that, as the newest hero at hand's reach, I would be the perfect showpiece for the New Year celebrations taking place at Arkhangelsk's City Hall, which houses the remnants of the Citadel's government. The interior, built like a palace, had been outlandishly decorated for the occasion which seemed to amplify the eccentricity of the already existing adornments. Dozens of people moved beneath the numerous crystal chandeliers, whose light replicated that of candles, between tables clothed with fine silk and littered with excessive centerpieces, polished tableware and fancy glass cups. Overall, there was enough luxury around to cause a severe case of whiplash for someone destitute like me.

The utter nerve of throwing such a lavish party in the middle of a war, when most of the population was either getting butchered on a battlefield or working to death to feed themselves... It was truly an unique event, one I wished I could distance myself from.

"And you are?" — unlike all the other relatively well dressed party-goers, the elderly woman addressing me wore a simple dark greatcoat and rubber boots, both stained with mud at the bottom, and her short grey hair was unkempt. Armin and Mikasa had to stay behind since they didn't want mere grunts mingling with the more privileged, so I was curious as to why this person, who comes off as a hobo, was allowed inside.

"I guess you had your fill of strangers approaching you this evening." — no kidding. Despite my best attempts to go by unseen, my age and the wheelchair I was bound to made me stand out among the decrepit old snobs, eager for the opportunity to rub off of my supposed heroism — "Aleksandra Zhukovsky, pleasure Private Jaeger."

"Junior Sergeant. Got a promotion." — I shook the stranger's hands, which was becoming a routinely action for me, who sat in the nearby sofa chair— "Came here for the festivities or to meet the new hero?"

"Lot of high ranking folk around these parts are making a fuss about you, son." — and I had come to know those people well enough.

Important looking figures, hiding behind vaingloriously absurd titles like 'Supreme Commander of That' or 'Chief Director of Such and Such'. The kind of vermin that had dragged me out of the Hospital for the first time so I could be paraded around like some luxury item. It was always the same with those. Shake hands, smiles all around, they would tell me how brave I was, an example everyone should follow, while I played the 'humble soldier selflessly fighting for his homeland' shtick they oh so adored. For my good performance, they would shower me with praise, honors and medals I had never heard of, but sounded just as ridiculous as the giver's titles. I made a point never to eat before those infuriatingly frequent encounters. The urge to vomit was often overwhelming.

"And since I was passing by the neighborhood, I decided... 'why not?'. It's not every day you can meet someone who survived the kind of ordeal you went through."

"Well... here I am. Everything to your liking?"

"You've seen better days. Then again, you would be hard pressed to find someone who hasn't. Not that you could tell it here, looking at them. Carousing without a care in the world. The end of the world might be upon us, but a true son of Russia will find a way to get joyfully intoxicated... even the rotten ones." — she took a clear flask filled with a translucent liquid, some sort of liquor if he had to guess, from inside her coat — "Want some?"

"I'm fourteen." — something told me the woman wasn't preoccupied by the fact I was still a minor — "Pass."

"Aren't you a killjoy?" — she downed a large sip, disappointed at my rejection — "You and your countrymen, the blasted fascists."

By countrymen, she meant all those that came (or at least sounded like they did) from any of the other six Citadels, collectively nicknamed _The_ _Reich_ by many of Olga's natives. My family and many other millions had emigrated over the years, mainly to Bastions like Zhiganshina, to 'escape the bleak totalitarian regime of the Hohenthron that so brutally oppresses the masses'. Or at least that's what the propaganda claimed.

"We're either dying of empty stomachs or filling those bastard's, and they sit on their collective asses as if nothing was going on, not even bothering to save those that can't fight. They'll turn a blind eye to our misery, until there's no one left to bear the suffering." — one more sip — "What's your opinion? Is it out of practicality? Or good old fashioned cross-border enmity?"

"I dunno. Stuff like that is usually more complicated than two clear-cut, opposite views."

"Oh, a philosopher too? You're quite the revelation, aren't you?" — she chugged down the remaining content of the flask — "But yes, you're probably right... and that's sad part. That it isn't just pragmatism. 134 years later and we still find it in ourselves to bicker over inconsequential nonsense like social status, politics, nationality, ethnicity... pointless labels that should've been permanently tossed aside once the first Kaiju appeared. Guess it's fitting we're still using the same weapons we did when they began to pop out of the Pacific. We've been condemned to witness history repeating itself before our very eyes due to our own complacency. How can we expect this small fraction of Humanity to succeed where its entirety once failed to turn the tide. We don't have the strength... we never had it to begin with. Nothing's changed."

"None of them wanted it to change. They wished to live in a world where the Kaiju never existed, as it was before. The 'glory days' of human civilization, and all that crap. And now..." — _"It all came tumbling down, just like you said it would." _

"They? Not you?" — she asked, curious by my choice of words.

"I would rather fight to take back what's rightfully ours." — a solemn chuckle was the elder's response to my boasting, as if she heard a six year-old trying to sound tough — "You find it funny?"

"It's a commendable attitude to have in these times, albeit one that warrants a very low chance of survival. Most people in your situation would go along with it for as long as they could. Reap the rewards of your accomplishment."

"I don't like having others do my work while I use my laurels as an excuse to go hide somewhere. I'm a soldier, my job it's to kill my enemies."

"_'Kill my enemies'_, eh?" — another short chuckle — "I think _'being killed by my enemies'_ would be the more realistic statement. You can't exactly be called a rookie anymore son, so I fully expect you to know which scenario is the most likely to occur the next time you find yourself in the field. You won the lottery, a one in a billion shot."

"Are you where just to patronize the naive kid?"

"Of course not. I hardly have the time to waste to discuss the realities of modern warfare with someone who should still be in school. I'm just curious to see what kind of soldier you are."

"And why would you be interested in that? Anyone who wants to meet me these days is more instead in what I did rather than what I am."

"Whether you like it or not, you'll be set up as an example for your fellow comrades. A symbol that in the sheer bleakness of our struggle there can still be a shred of hope for those out there fighting."

"I'm 'a one in a billion shot', like you said. No one will be as lucky as me. Not even myself once I go back. (That's about the only reason I put up with these idiots)." — for Mikasa's and Armin's sake.

"A man who has nothing can still have faith."

"Until it blinds him to the threat in front of him." — the faith everyone put on the Wall was a perfect example of that.

"If only it deafened him as well, said hypothetical man would probably fight better. He wouldn't have to hear that... abominable cackle of theirs." — the sick delight of the of a predator against its helpless prey. I knew that sound well — "God, how many good men must I've lost just to the sheer despair their mere presence commands?"

"'I've lost'? So… what, you're an officer?"

"I'm THE officer, son. Yours. Theirs. Every single soul left in Olga answers to me, at least until our good Castellan stops sulking in the Hohenthron. I'm the reason children like you are being sent to the front, why they're going to lose their lives in such a ghastly manner..." — she took a glance at my artificial limbs, the only parts of me markedly absent of any bandages — "The very least I could do, after all your troubles, is get you a replacement for the appendages you lost."

"You're the Generalissimo? The one who enacted the Draft?" — the same one whose name was silently cursed upon by those unfortunate to get the pick — "So I've been casually chatting with the most powerful person in the Citadel?"

"Do I fit your expectations?"

"Truth be told...ah ma'am, I always imagined you would be one of those pompous asses." — I gestured to the mass of attendees with his head — "Sending drove upon drove of hapless peons to their deaths to buy themselves some more time, all the while extolling the value of our continual struggle behind their cozy positions."

"It's an ancient stratagem of sorts around these parts, and it usually works, just ask the French and the Germans. Alas, the Kaiju are a whole different breed of enemy, attrition simply doesn't work against them. If anything, I'm just doing catering service for those monsters." — she went for the flask again, forgetting that it was empty, subsequently grunting over that detail — "Do you have any notion how bad it is? On average, it takes 50 of my men's lives to bring down a measly Category 1, a thousandth times that number for each Category 2, and for a Category 3... even nukes don't have enough stopping power. I've been sending some 100000 human beings to meet their demise each single day, for the past 20 months. You can do the math, son." — and those were the soldiers, the ones who fought. Her estimates didn't include the masses literally herded around as bait in the early days or the ones that were starving to death or perishing in some shanty factory building armament — "Maybe I once was a 'pompous ass', but all those sleepless nights wondering if this duty of mine, that I impose unto you, is of any worth kicks you off your pedestal soon enough. To think I once cursed my dead end career tending remote listening posts in the Urals. What I wouldn't give to be that simple Colonel again."

"How did you came to lead Olga's Guard if you were just a Colonel back then?"

"Technically speaking, I still am. Generalissimo is just a title I came up with to give more weight to my words, to make me sound more imposing. Such self-promotions were all the flair back when this debacle started, especially when the highest ranking members of the General Staff bailed and took off with the Castellan, as his 'personal entourage' I'm told. The entire command structure of the Guard in Olga collapsed overnight, and those forced to stay behind were more preoccupied with consolidating their position in the subsequent power vacuum. A collection of inflated egos, each with their own idea how to deal with the situation and willing to enlighten the others by force. By the time I had managed to outmaneuver and subdue all my peers, through bribery, extortion, purges and other underhanded tactics, half the Citadel was overrun, and after that..."

"Mass conscription and doomed battles. That's the only prospect most can look forward to nowadays."

"What choice do I have? The Reich left us to die and the only place left in Olga where we can be safe is inside the Bastions, but they alone cannot sustain so many. I have to… trim down the population somehow, lest the black horse condemns us all to an agonizingly slow death. Like I said, it's not that different from what we did a century ago when we locked ourselves in. Leaving to chance who goes and who stays seemed the... fairer option." — her whole dialogue was peppered with a hint of regret and self-contempt, about the only thing that betrayed her stone mask.

As Zhukovsky's words sank in, a newcomer discreetly entered the ball room and hastily made for the spot where we were chatting. I became aware of her presence only when I found a deep azure eye peering at me in an unsettling manner while the girl relayed a message into the old woman's ear.

"Holidays over then. Oh well..." — the Generalissimo levered herself up from the sofa using the arm rests and straightened her greatcoat — "Come along, soldier."

"I'm under the impression that they're expecting a big speech from the 'Boy Hero' or something like that." — as much as I wanted to leave this debauched excuse of a celebration, I didn't think he could just run off like that.

"You provided enough entertainment to these sleazebags for one evening and it's been too long since I had a good chat with someone." — on the other hand, it's not like any of them could defy her orders — "Lieutenant, assist the Junior Sergeant, if you please." — the blonde teen, acknowledging her superior's orders, swiftly moved behind me, guiding my wheelchair through the pathway leading towards the exit.

Zhukovsky casually threw her rank around and asserted her authority to dismiss anyone who tried to protest my early departure as we made their way to a waiting _Maultier_ by the main gate. It took some effort and the Lieutenant's assistance, who had to bridal carry me momentarily (much to my mild embarrassment), to climb onto one of the troop transporter's seat.

To my chagrin, the muscle atrophy resulting from the month-and-a-half long coma and the nature of my injuries meant that I couldn't move as freely as I wished, even after having my new parts attached. I was frequently injected with all kinds of stimulants and other hard to pronounce concoctions to speed up the healing process, seeing as the brass wanted me healthy ASAP.

The surgery itself had gone off without any major complications. Conscious through all of it, so the assortment of surgeons and technicians could properly test the synthetic limbs' response to stimuli, I still recalled the rather nasty jolt running through my spine when they connected the raw nerves in the stumps with the prosthetic. I didn't fall off the operating table only because of the bed restraints that held me firmly in place. The majority of the time, however, was spent dully calibrating the intricate control apparatus to properly respond to my commands through a series of simple orders like "Move index up.", "Bend knee.", "Touch thumb with pinkie.", and so on.

"Ever been to Arkhangelsk before?" — Zhukovsky abruptly asked as the illuminated facade of the City Hall was gradually engulfed by the darkened surroundings.

"No." — for as long I could recall, I had never left Zhiganshina up until...

"I grew up some 15 kilometers south of this Bastion, in a quiet little town without much to do. I would visit the city as often as I as my parents would let me, to escape the dreaded mire of boredom. Young as I was, there was no greater thrill than to run down the bustling streets, being enthralled by the sights and sounds of this steel jungle teeming with life. Such exhilaration when compared with the her dull little hometown." — she looked nostalgically at the moving city line silhouette, against the background of the moonlight bathed Wall, as they sped down the deserted main avenue. For security reasons, the entire Arkhangelsk Bastion had been evacuated of all non-essentials, meaning the only ones still left were guardsmen, government officials and their respective support personnel in what was once a city of a million inhabitants. It must've pain her to see a place she has so fond memories of emptied and lifeless like that, especially considering she had a hand in making it like that — "How about yours?"

"Mine?" —it seemed she knew that too. It was a safe bet on which particular topic she was interested in.

"If I may be so inconsiderate, could you tell me? How all this came to pass? About THAT day?"

"Why THAT day?" — I feigned ignorance since the last thing I wanted to do was to retell those events, to someone I barely knew no less.

"Insight, soldier. You had the unenviable pleasure of being one of the few survivors that witnessed firsthand the beginning of this war."

"Did we sign a peace treaty at some point in the last century!? It never ended in the first place! Those in charge just wanted to fool themselves and everyone else to believe that and look where it got us!" — she looked at me with a somber expression.

"I understand that it might be difficult to recall such... less than pleasant experience, but if you _could_ indulge me." — by the accentuation of those words, it was clear she wasn't asking.

_Play along or else. _Even if she was being nicer than any of her underlings, Zhukovsky still held a disturbing amount of power over my life, so I figured it would be best to remain on her good side, just in case. I forcibly swallowed my reluctance and relented to her request.

And I did owe her a favor for taking me out of that stupid party early...

/-/-/

/-/-/

"Come on, pick it up, pick it up..." — Armin murmured as the sound of a VTOL's rotors swished overhead. Pressed against his ear was the portable military grade radio he liked to carry around, a souvenir from his Grandfather's days as a guardsman.

"Are you tapping into military frequencies again?" — he gently touched the wide range of icons in the small display next to the speaker, without even looking at them, hoping to catch something other than the intermittent static I had been hearing.

"I know, I know, I can get myself into serious trouble, I'm aware of that, but... coooome on!" — his finger movements became more frenetic as his frustration grew — "This would a be breeze if I had the encryption keys."

"Suit yourself." — I contented myself with throwing pebbles into the greenish waters of the canal, as my friend continued to fiddle with the radio, with no specific goal in mind.

After wandering around aimlessly for two hours or so, mostly so I could cool off my head in the late afternoon air after the argument with Mother, we decided to take a break at the canal waterfront. I had already told Armin he could go home, where he was heading before Father mistook the purpose of his presence in front of our house, but he said he didn't mind being pulled along.

Looking around, I saw other people relaxing by the canal bank, the majority of whom were young children and their elderly caretakers seeing that most adults were only by now arriving from their day-to-day workplace (no vacation for them). Apart from those, I spotted a few fatigued joggers, flirting couples, maintenance workers fixing a lamppost and a candy street vendor being swarmed by little sweet tooths. With my stomach growling with hunger, I would gladly join the diminutive flock had I any money with me. The last to peek my mild interest was the girl with the red scarf, the familiarity of whom conceals her from plain sight, moving towards us.

"She made you go fetch me?"

"Dinner's nearly ready." — Mikasa indirectly conveyed Mother's orders to come back home.

"She's still angry?" — my sisters' face told me that yes, she still was — "I guess we better get back before it the food goes cold. (The ambient will be chilly enough as it is). You coming Armin?"

"Huh? Oh... in a minute, just need a few more adjustments to..."

"Why are you insisting so much on that?" — a funny thought came up — "Are you looking for those two again?"

"No!" — he vehemently denied, his face turning red after recalling that one little incident, puzzling the unaware Mikasa.

During one of his forays into the airwaves, Armin happen to come across a somewhat odd conversation between two guardsmen. Instead of the jargon heavy exchanges he was accustomed to find in that type of channel, they were seemingly more interested in finding out what the other was wearing. We listened in, at a loss, when they began to elatedly solicit one another to remove individual pieces of clothing, down to what they estimated must've been their underwear. Then... let's just say, at the end of it all, we became more knowledgeable about the reproductive act than two nine year olds ought to be. To that day, the memory remained the best way to get him off of that gizmo, even if I felt a bit guilty for teasing him like that.

"It's just... haven't any of you noticed?"

"Notice what?" — he was evidently anxious about something.

"That, look." — he directed them at a VTOL that had just passed by — "The _Geiers. _They've been flying around at a higher frequency than it's common. At least three times as much if my assessment is correct." — living in a Bastion invariably meant living next to a major Guard airbase from which dozens of those aircraft go routinely on patrols along the Wall. As such, we had been desensitized to their semi-constant presence in the sky and the racket they made passing by — "And... do you see where it's heading?"

"It's following the canal line downstream so..."

"South. It's going over the Wall towards the Black Sea." — Mikasa deduced faster.

"Exactly. Every single one I've seen today is either going or coming from that direction, and I don't think this is some sort of military exercise. They aren't following standard protocol for those and their encryption ciphers are getting continuously updated, well before I can crack them. From what Grandpa told me, they only do that when dealing with sensitive information." — he paused to catch his breath, visibly nervous by his own thought process — "I've been cycling every known frequency the Guard uses since I became aware of the peculiar patterns and I did manage to gather little tidbits of information."

"Like what?"

"... 'Island'... 'Kilometer Long'... 'Moving'... 'Red'... it always boils down to something along the lines of those keywords. They're monitoring something and... here." — he showed us the radio's display, with an extensive data log — "Every time I'm able to get anything from one of their channels, the radio automatically records several important parameters from it. Check 'AvgSigStr', Average Signal Strength."

At first, I couldn't made sense of the long column of seemingly random numbers, until it dawn on me that the figures were progressively bigger the further up the list they were. The record was also ordered from newest to oldest.

"The radio signal between caller and receiver, in this case the _Geiers_ at sea and this radio, is getting stronger each subsequent time. Whatever they're keeping track of... it's getting closer." — he ominously concluded.

_"I mean, what are the odds of those bastards getting in now?"_

The guardwoman's words rang loudly, daring fate to prove her wrong. The sudden sense of dread was palpable as the we digested Armin's reasoning. On those days, there was only one thing that could prowl around the dark seas that would get the military's attention, not to mention those specific words. I felt the blood vessels in my neck and skull throbbing from the fretfulness.

"May-maybe I'm just looking too much into this than I should. Those bits of information were taken out of context after all and with the Corps returning earlier today it's not that far-fetch to think this is some sort of support operation. It's most likely nothing." — Armin dismissed his own deduction to reassure himself that there was no danger.

_"That's the kinda shit people say right before it hits the fan."_

I bit my tongue to avoid parroting the Corporal's warning. My friend was probably right in any case, and I didn't wish to rattle him further.

Yet, it was with this premonition in mind that I found the ground beneath me vanishing.

Instinctively, I grabbed the guardrail by the waterline and inelegantly managed to avoid falling into the shifting ground. Mikasa did the same, with much more finesse, while Armin didn't react fast enough and hit the pavement butt-first, an outcome shared by most people in the vicinity. It ended just as abruptly as it started, with the earth's rumbling being replaced by the cries of scared children and a cacophony of anti-theft alarms blaring off.

"Everyone okay?" — Mikasa inquired, to which I shook my head affirmatively while my friend didn't say anything. His focus was absolutely centered on the hand radio, which he tinkered at an hectic pace.

"Armin? Armin!? Everything alright!?" — he seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack, barely keeping a grip on the device as I went to help him up.

"Island, Kilometer Long, Moving... here, here, here. I need to know more. Come on, come on, come on..." — it was true that an object fitting that description could've caused the tremor, but...

"Grandma look, the Wall is smoking." — a young girl begged for her older relative's attention and inadvertently got everyone's when she pointed at a certain spot in the behemoth structure, south of where we were.

The scene was as surreal as it was disturbing. A white mist gradually rolled down over a vast extension of the outer perimeter of the Wall, akin to water overflowing from a cup in slow-motion. A half-a-dozen or so _Geiers_ circled around the epicenter of the downpour of fog over a backdrop of an overcast, dark red sky where an elongated, darken, tentacle-like... thing pivoted around.

[OW-T-11]:"Ho_*buzz*_ing shi_*buzz*_the hell_*buzz*_at?" — blasting from the speaker, the scream of one of the alarmed pilots was drown by the equally frightened shrieks of the people around them.

All paled in comparison, however, to the horridly low bellow followed by the thunderous sound of crashing metal in the distance, as a gargantuan 3-fingered hand emerged from the middle of the blanket of fog covering the Wall. Its color resembled that of human flesh with several dark lines running the length of its palm and three elongated bony fingers. The sheer size of it, including the equally massive arm, cloaked a vast expanse of the city with a crimson tinged shade.

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Once reserved to warn the general population of an approaching natural disaster or a nuclear attack, the sirens that went off signal a different type of impending holocaust, neither natural nor man-made.

_Island... _

_Kilometer Long... _

_Moving... _

_Red... _

_Red... _

_Red... _

My subconscious was stuck in a loop. Armin's object of interest had arrived, announcing itself to the horror overwhelmed inhabitants of Zhiganshina by effortlessly punching a hole in their impenetrable shield. In pure disbelief at the nightmarish sight, we witnessed the hand planting itself on the grounds past the edge of the downtown area, launching large clouds of rubble as it crushed the buildings (and people) underneath it. It was telling of the creature's size that the forearm alone dwarfed the skyscrapers in height by the double.

The demolishing spectacle was enough to break many out of their daze, who desperately tried to flee, missing their chance to see the arm stretching backwards. The motion's connotations weren't lost on us even before the radio came back to life with aghast screaming.

[OW-T-11]:"Je_*buzz*u_s_*buzz*_uck! He's _*buzz*_onna ram it!"

"Get down!" — still half staggered, Mikasa had to forcefully shove us into hitting the deck. The metallic thunder came crashing down again, several orders of magnitude stronger than before, accompanied by a heaven splitting shriek that violated my most inner psyche, as if it was tearing the soul right from my body. It was the sound of fear... screaming for me to run.

A strong gust of wind didn't allow me to do so, lest I wished to be carried away by it. The world was submerged in a cloud of dust and noise, as debris hiss past my heads at high velocities. I closed his eyes and try to hold my breath as the dirt stung everything it touched and, by the time the storm subsided, I was half-buried in the brownish grey stuff. A disconcerting quiet followed, as everyone picked themselves off the ground.

In a few moments, the entire landscape around me had been drastically twisted.

Impact craters from variously sized chunks of metallic concrete littered the street and buildings around it, from which no single window remained unbroken, and plumes of black smoke could be seen in every direction. Those unfortunate enough to be in the direct path of an impacting projectile now laid in a pool of their own blood, dead or dying, to the despair of those accompanying them. Thankfully, neither Mikasa or Armin were among the casualties, having escaped practically unscathed from the, for the lack of a better term, explosion caused by that towering monstrosity, of which there was no longer sign of. Instead, and contrasting with the drab apocalyptic scenery, there was the orange toned horizon visible through the gaping hole that said goliath had left on the Wall from top to bottom.

"...move to*cough* Mov*cough* High ground*cough* EVERYONE*cough* MOVE TO HIGH GROUND! MOVE TO HIGH GROUND!" — as the ringing inside my ears stopped, Armin's hysteric shouts became clearer. At first, I was at a loss to the significance of his words and flurrying arm waving until I spotted the murky waters of the canal rapidly vanishing, as if someone had pulled the drain plug of a sink. It hit me then.

"THE WATER'S COMING! MOVE! MOVE!" — a mad dash ensued. The multi-storey buildings along the waterfront, mostly low end offices, were our best bet to escape the impeding tsunami. Some followed but many, either ignorant of the imminent danger or busy tending to the fallen, stayed put despite the attempts to alert them.

Along with the few of those that heeded the warning, we quickly reached an office block where some of the late staying employees let us in. Hastily explaining the situation, the confused onlookers joined us in a frenzied climb up the building's U-shaped staircase.

The whole complex shook as the Black Sea slammed into it, a large wave crashing through the large broken window in between the two flights leading to the third floor, violently thrusting me against the handrail. Such was the force of the wave that I was nearly yanked downstairs by the rushing water if not for Mikasa's and a stranger's assistance, who managed to grab me by the arm and drag me up till the next floor. Those further back were less lucky.

"Salty..."

"...huh?" — I tossed himself into the swivel chair by the nearest work desk in the office floor as my sister pondered what I had just said.

"It's sea water." — the consistency and color was really that of mud and enough of it had gotten in my mouth to give my saliva a briny, earthy flavor — "Seems I finally got a taste of the outside like I wanted. Ha."

Wet and worn out by the effort of running all the way up there, I could only look up to the ceiling in a vain attempt to regain my bearings after they were thrown in total disarray. I was certainly not alone in that regard. It was downright preposterous to all of those present in the unlit cubicle farm how messed up the situation was, how fast everything had gone to shit.

"What was that thing?"

"God... so many dead."

"This isn't happening."

"People, calm down! We need a plan!"

"My family is out there! Fuck!"

"What do we do now?"

"We're goners, man. Goners."

"Gotta get out of here, fast."

"No. We've wait it out, that's it... just wait it out..."

A dissonant symphony, lacking cohesion or guidance, of people taken aback by what was unfolding around them, unable to fully comprehend the true extent of the catastrophe. Yet, it was only when it began to be heard that the true threat to our survival came to the forefront of those folk's minds...

_**Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**_

A freakishly hoarse giggle that made my skin crawl, still relatively faint and distant but more than enough to mute the entire room.

"Who the hell is laughing!?" — a well suited businessman randomly shouted at the crowd, convinced one of us was the perpetrator — "You think this is funny!? Huh!? Huh!?"

"It's not us, dude. It's coming from the outside." — a skinny teenager with baggy clothes pointed out, as he comforted his terrified girlfriend.

"How? It's all flooded, there can't possibly be anyone in the streets. The torrent's all the way to the second floor." — another formally dressed office dweller scanned the street by peering through the shattered wall window — "Wow... what in the world? Hey, everyone come check this out!"

"What? You see anyone in the other buildings?"

"No, not that, its... The water is glowing!" — she noted, prompting several others to take a look outside.

"Glowing?"

"Yeah, like a miniature island of light. Bright blue." — the woman turned her face around — "Does anyone know what could it b-?" — and never saw it coming.

The open maw of teeth lunging at her.

In a booming instant, the farther end of the storey disappeared, and in its place, after the dust quickly settled, half of a wide sickening Cheshire Cat grin stuck out of the floor in a slanted angle.

_**Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**_

A cold, bloody mist sprayed from the gaps between teeth with each exhale, as it chews through concrete, bone and muscle. The air became permeated with the fleshy smell and taste of those unfortunate enough to be in the path of the closing jaw. Horrified beyond any chance of thinking straight, our survival instincts lead us upwards, towards the rooftops where, with any luck, it wouldn't be able to reach the rest. The building rumbled as the creature disentangled itself from its front and returned to the flooded street with a big splash.

_**Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**_

Fat droplets of shivering rain fell from the overcast sky unto the pavement of the topmost floor, the puddles they formed pulsated with the quaking footsteps. A strong breeze mixed the rolling fog with the caustic smoke and dust thrown into the air. They were there, shepherding the smog, like the creations of a demented artist that used the cityscape as his canvas, scribbles sketched unto the real world.

An eldritch design with a vague humanoid semblance, complemented with varying beastly shapes and forms. Washed of color, save for the neon blue emanating from the multiple lightning lines across its body, the interior of its mouth and its piercing soulless eyes. It all conjugated into a colossal lumbering frame materializing out of the blacken mist that manages to paint a heavy contrast against all of reality, a vile perversion of nature.

Kaiju.

The closest of the abominations, ambling onwards just by the opposite side of the canal, turned its head around, having detected the small group of humans in awe of his presence. Its skull was shaped like an anvil, with three rectangular crests running the length of the horn, attached to a broad muscly torso with stubby legs which necessitate the use of the two long thick arms protruding out of its chest for equilibrium and support. Its eyes were situated right next to the corner of its elongated, slender teeth filled jaw shaped like an anglerfish's. It opened to reveal a blazing void of blue from which came a predatory howl.

"RUN!" — once more, we found ourselves fleeing for their lives as the Kaiju rushed forward like an oncoming train. Luckily for us, all adjacent rooftops were connected by fire platforms, meant to facilitate an evacuation of the upper floors in case of an emergency. It was now our only escape route.

"Wait! This way!" — Mikasa stopped me and Armin from following the others hurriedly darting towards for the nearest of these walkways, instead leading us in the opposite direction. Her savvy ended up saving our lives as, sadly for them, the other survivors' actions didn't go unnoticed by the Kaiju who instinctively targeted the larger group of humans by adjusting its course slightly to the right.

Akin a wrecking ball, the beast collided head first against the building where others had run off to, its sheer size and momentum effortlessly demolishing the entire structure and nearly doing the same with the one where we were standing in. Before it could resume its rampage however, the whistling melody of a golden streaking projectile silenced the monster's triumphant skyward roar, bursting its head into a shower of bluish brain matter and other organs. As the headless body collapsed unto the rubble, more supersonic shockwaves reverberated in the distance and fiery bolts spew out of the Wall, finding their mark on the hides of the advancing behemoths.

_"1.5 meter caliber, 60 meter barrel long, 12 ton shell using Kaiser-Gustav's. A single one of those beauties is designed to one-shot a Category 2 and we have enough of them here to even bring down a Category 3."_

Before my very eyes, Hannes' expectations were proven lifesavingly correct, as the battle on the ground began in earnest. The distant muzzle flashes and thunderclap of hundreds of war machines added their presence to the aggravating havoc, signifying the Guard's defiant refusal to abandon the Bastion to the ghoulish horde. As the three of us pressed forward through the rooftops, heading to an elevated area where hopefully the waters would be shallow enough to transverse the streets, thoughts drifted elsewhere...

_Home... _

_Mother..._

We needed to hurry.

/-/-/

/-/-/

_Shoot him. Shoot him. Shoot him. _

He had him right where he wanted him to. All he had to do is pull the trigger and be done with it. The last obstacle to his plans would be permanently eliminated and he would be triumphant. Instead...

"Just shoot him you moron!" — he went into a long, pompous and triumphant tirade giving the protagonist ample time to escape his grasp and floor him in the subsequent over-the-top fight sequence — "Every. Goddamn. Time. Are you sure there's nothing else we can watch?" — I once more protested Armin's choice of entertainment programming.

"No, quit asking. Try to enjoy the show."

"Hard to when you know what's going to happen beforehand."

"You watched it already?"

"I used to watch a ton of these shows when I was younger. The formula is always the same." — nauseatingly so, to the point that I often found myself rooting for the (usually cooler-looking) villain to defeat the obnoxiously cheesy good guys.

"Well I didn't, so..."

"You never saw any? Every kid I knew used to watch these types of series. My favorite was the one were the heroes in colorful spandex could summon cool robots to punch a giant monster." — wouldn't a couple of those come in handy.

"I picked up Grandpa's reading habit, so I didn't care much for the shows that aired back then. I was the odd case I guess." — and that made him an easy target for all kids our age, bullying him for his lack of familiarization with whatever was latest popular trend at the time, among other things.

"That and the radio you always kept close by to dabble with." — which raised the question — "Do you still have it?"

"Not anymore. I remember having it before we left, so it's likely I lost it there... during the battle." — the last keepsake he had of his Grandfather, his family.

"Sorry... I shouldn't brought it up." — especially considering the hand I played in its loss.

"That's okay. We're still alive after all... and that's what matters in the long run." — the episode's credits rolled, prompting the 'Next Episode' option on the interactive menu — "One more?"

"Why not? Go for it."

Another day strolled past. Despite being able to walk and move around normally once more (prosthetics and all), thanks in part to the medical cocktail they had been feeding me, I was under strict orders from the doctors not to strain myself too much yet. So, with little else to do for the moment, me and Armin passed the time relaxing by the couches of the Hospital's recreation room watching old, tacky series, that my friend managed to scrounge up somewhere. Mikasa, while occasionally taking a glance during the more action-packed scenes, mostly stuck to a borrowed datapad reading different assortments of documents. My trivial complaints aside, it was quite satisfying to be able to simply loaf around once again, to have a chance to act our age.

Besides us, off-duty staff, other patients and guardsmen gradually filled up the leisure area, as morning turned into afternoon, and, more often than not, joined our viewings from afar, undoubtedly wooed in by the seizure inducing visuals and energetic shouting. I had been acquainted with many of those faces after they took the time, at some point over the past couple of weeks, to greet and commend the boy whose story was making rounds all over the Bastion. Unmerited and contrite worthy as the praise and admiration from my senior comrades was, it was still miles more sincere and meaningful than anything spat out by some fake desk officer or greedy politician. Those men and women actually knew what it was like to suffer at the hands of the Kaiju.

That I recently hadn't been pestered by those shit-spewing cretins is possibly another thing I owed Zhukovsky. Dropping me off at the Hospital, despite running out of time to tell her the whole story like she wanted, the Generalissimo had thrown casual comments on how good of an idea is to 'pull the brass' leash' once in a while. All for the sake of a more efficient war effort, as the elderly woman put it with a devilish smile.

_"Make enough waves and someone might pick you up from this sinking ship, son." _

Those where her last words, spoken as her Maultier joined the gathering convoy en route for the main gate. That night, the New Year was rung in by the battery of Kaiser-Gustavs, that Zhukovsky had cleverly and laboriously turned around to face the interior of the Citadel, intermittently launching their payload into the distance. Just a short distance away, battles have been unraveling every now and then since, each one testified by the earthshaking burst those ordnances produce each time, alongside the Wall's creaking chime. The new admittances to the Hospital, a large portion of whom never make it past a day after their arrival, paint an even more poignant point to how close the danger truly was. Black body bags, carrying whatever's been recovered from the battlefield, could occasionally be seen discreetly passing by on their way to the incinerators to be unceremoniously disposed of.

The general mood of the still-living was one of fatalistic resignation, of people trying to enjoy what little pleasures there were still left to be had to take their mind out of the war. For the adults, this mostly meant heavy binge drinking (funny how they never ran out of booze for that) and other more indecent activities. For us 'kids', it meant hours upon hours of television shows. While part of me boiled in frustration at my inability to do anything else of use, to contribute in some significant way while others die in their thousands, all it took is a reminder to what my previous contribution had ultimately entailed to for my eagerness to abate.

"Trouble." — distracted by the series' bombastic opening credits, Mikasa was the one that noticed the brewing ruckus in the lobby.

"It's just some drunks making a fuss." — I dismissed it as another alcohol related disturbance (not the first time one had occurred, even at that time of the day) until, shortly afterwards, four pairs of marching footsteps stopped behind my back.

"Eren Jaeger?" — and so ended sixteen days of uninterrupted peace — "Eren Jaeger!?"

"I heard you the first time. What do you want?" — sighing, I paused the video and turned my head around at the impatient voice.

"You're coming with us." — no 'you need to', no 'your presence is requested', no common formalism whatsoever. The hefty man with the brown crew-cut hair simply commanded me like I was his pet dog.

"That's one big assumption you're making off the bat. Tell you what, try asking nicely and I might give it a thought."

"Get a load of this smart mouth. Do you have any idea what we are?" — an all-white ensemble of black trimmed trench coats, pants and boots complemented with square sunglasses. The four men didn't come off as guardsmen nor the kind of hired thugs employed by the elites of the place.

"Assholes?" — close enough.

"Figures you don't. Otherwise, you would know better than to backtalk an agent of the OSS." — that was mistake number one; loudly announcing yourself as part of that particular, not-so beloved organization.

"So... sanctioned assholes." — I obtained a few suppressed giggles out of the spectators, to the ostensible indifference of the four agents — "What exactly does the OSS want with me?"

"State secret, you aren't in the need to know."

"Not really interested in any of that 'Top Secret' business you people deal with. I'll pass." — I waved my hand in dismissal.

"Hah hah..." — a condescending and contained laugher, rather fitting — "...listen carefully here kid, cause I really hate to repeat myself for a second time. That. wasn't. a request. My people have better things to do than wasting our time scouring this godforsaken land, all for some half digested brat. So when I order you to come with us, you better do as you are told, like an obedient little guardsman has to. Are we clear?"

"I'm flattered you flew all the way over here because of me but, the thing is, I'm not under any obligation whatsoever. We're not in the Reich which means you and your buddies have no authority over anyone."

"And, lo and behold, all the good such unruliness did for these fine folks. Is it at all surprising that the only Citadel to fall happens to be the one so short-sighted and self-conceited it believed it could do without our oversight, without our methods. They let those Kaiju-worshipping lunatics run free among them and then look what happens. Those madmen manage to breach the Wall and these people are reduced to a bunch of deplorable drunkards, too inept to even properly defend their own homes, having to resort to begging for help from us 'fascists'. Take a hint you brat. This is what you get for refusing to fall in line when you're told too." — mistake number two; gloating yourself by personally insulting the audience, many of whom were veteran soldiers.

"Fancy speech. Still doesn't change the fact I don't have to go anywhere."

"Seems I'm having trouble making myself understood." — the man took off his sunglasses in an attempt to salvage his poor intimidation routine — "I'm not one to play games with, you rejected piece of Kaiju shit, get that into that little pea brain of yours. I've clear cut orders to bring you in and I'm not about to give up just because of some technicality. So, by all means, try and make this harder for yourself cause in my trade a few broken bones and teeth are nothing that would be frown upon when our mark acts so uncooperative as you are right n... What's with the retarded smile?" — threatening me with Mikasa within earshot, the third and last mistake he would make.

"You deaf or something!? I asked-" — the head goon leaned forward, intent on grabbing me by the collar, having failed to notice the red scarf wearing girl's subtle positioning to his left. In one fell swoop, she extended her arm underneath his, swiped the handgun from the concealed holster on the right side of his coat and pressed it against his left temple.

"Because of that."

In the instants that followed, the flabbergasted agent could only glare the girl who disarmed him so effortlessly with a burning ire at both his ineptitude and her daringness. I felt like I should be impressed by such an assertive reaction on her part but, truth be told, if she had been obsessive (and suffocating) in regards to my safety before, I could only imagine to what extremes she would go to after my miraculous return from the bowels of death.

"What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this? If you haven't catch on yet, I've brought backup and my three equally armed colleagues will have little trouble disposing of some brainless insubordinate bitch. So if you want to keep that pretty little face of yours intact when this exchange his over, you'll drop this bravado bullshit. NOW!" — she didn't budge an inch despite his threats — "The hell are you guys waiting for!? Get this fucking cun-!" — whatever was about to be said died quickly in his mouth as he looked over his left shoulder to see just why his companions wouldn't be coming to his aid.

While the others had gone for their weapons the second Mikasa pulled out his, they found themselves swarmed by a pack of awfully irked guardsmen, both wounded and unscathed, that had been gathering on the scene. Surrounded on all sides and with their guns only half-drawn, they wisely chose not to push the increasingly lynch-prone mob eyeing them with an unmistakable murderous expression. Unlike his minions, the leader didn't had his sunglasses to mask the sheer terror stamped on his face, as he was probably starting to wish he had kept his piehole shut.

"I didn't quite catch that last bit..." — more so when Mikasa forcibly jammed the onyx pistol in his gaping mouth and softly squeezed the trigger — "...care to repeat?"

"...fack muh."

It went on for a while after that. In-between spiteful insults, a shower of suggestions on what should be done with the newfound hostages began to pour out of the boiling crowd.

"Hang the fascists!"

"I say shoot them with their fancy weapons! A fitting end that would be!"

"Hook em to a generator! I wanna see sparkles fly!"

"Nyet, shove them in an one of the furnaces!"

"Someone fetch the wood chipper from the storage room!"

"They look well fed! Let them starve in a cell!"

"And while we're at it, give em a taste of their own renowned interrogation techniques."

"Why bother!? Send them back empty handed and their bosses will do it for us!"

"Screw that, I wanna see them squirm!"

I couldn't honestly tell if they were actually serious about some of the ideas or they were just blowing off steam, but, either way, each submission put the fear of god into the four men. Maybe that was the intent. We had all heard the stories on how the Office for State Security held absolute sway over Olga's 'sisters', on how it terrorized the population with near impunity in the name of Humanity's safekeeping. It was an one of a kind opportunity to dangle the executioner's blade over the untouchable enforcers of the all powerful and infamous OSS, to make them experience what's it's like for a change. If it where up to me, I would simply leave them butt nuked outside the gate to see how well they fared out with the Kaiju roving the surrounding area. Then they would truly wish they hadn't strutted around like they owned the place.

"Excuse me, coming through, gangway people, gangway..." — before I could throw my proposal into the lot however, a fifth individual made his way to the heart of the commotion.

"You one of them?" — somebody in the crowd asked.

"I'm WITH them. Big difference." — he certainly looked different. What with the greaser hairdo, blue dress shirt, brown slacks hold up by stripped suspenders, leather blucher shoes and, most striking of all, the red bowtie on his collar — "And, in my humble defense, I didn't want to bring them along for reasons that are now plainly obvious to anyone present."

"Misah Oi say ack. We hag da siuaion undah conol." — the man (Oi?) glared the goon, raising his eyebrows in frustrating incredulity.

"Oh, I can see that. Your three fellow officers are one second away from meeting their grizzly end at the hands of a mob of angry Russians and you can't even speak properly with that gun of yours stuffed in your mouth by a teenage girl. Your definition of 'under control' is a tad amiss there, Agent." — he rolled his eyes and turned to me — "Sorry about all of this. I swear they make these gorillas dumber by the year."

"Who are you people and what do you want?"

"Right... can we talk someplace else? Too much murder hanging around in the air for my taste. Your bodyguard can come along to if you want to play it safe. God knows I won't mess with any woman capable of making a big ape like that piss himself in terror." — he was at least smarter than his lackeys.

The two of us followed the strange man to a deserted service corridor where we could talk in private like he wanted, much to the relief of Mikasa's hostage who was herded together with his fellow mates. I was somewhat skeptic our talk would bring any clarity but, at that point, I might as well listen to what the strange man had to say.

"Well... first things first. Tendo Choi." — he extended his hand which I wasn't in the mood to shake — "Okay then, skip introductions."

"My question."

"About that... well, as my blockheaded escorts no doubt already informed you of, rather rudely for which I must again apologize, I'm here to retrieve you, Junior Sergeant Eren Jaeger, and... that's the gist of it really."

"And the reason for that is?"

"Ah, that. That's the tricky part. You see, since you can still not make the final cut, I'm not authorized to disclose any information regarding the project I'm working for. St-"

"State secret, I'm not in the need to know. If you're going to give the same excuse as that ape, why should I give more thought to your offer than his?"

"Pretty please?" — Choi tried asking politely, shrugging his shoulders. A more civil approach but not nearly enough to persuade me.

"And for that matter, what project? Who's 'us'? Who do you work for?"

"Again asking about classified information."

"So I'm expected to simply follow you blindly into whatever you people have prepared for me!?" — I shouted.

"I... guess that's wishful thinking at this point. (This was so much easier with the others)." — Choi said under his breath while rubbing his temples — "So exactly what will it take to convince you?"

"Something a little more substantial than armed threats or nice words. You can start by answering my damn questions!"

"I would. I would truly like to make my own life easier, if that didn't warrant a blindfold and six rifles pointed at me. Leaking information of this level is somewhat frown upon where I come from."

"Not my problem."

"Look kid, there's really not much else I can say, alright? I know I'm not the most trustworthy looking guy around and I would have my share of suspicion if I was in your shoes, especially after that mess in the lounge. But you'll have to believe me when I say that, despite the lack of details I can reveal, it's really in your best interest that you join us. It's a free ticket out of here at the very least. Isn't that enough after what you've been through?"

"And what would you know about 'what I've been through', huh? No one seemed to care about what was 'in my best interest' three months ago, before my existence had no greater use other than cannon fodder. All you people see now is just a boy lucky enough to have crawled out of a Kaiju alive, a brand new celebrity you can exploit for propaganda. That's the only reason we're having this conversation, you and I. Why else would you, would anyone, bother with some stupid kid who spent the last couple of years as a refugee, running from the bastards who destroyed his home?" — I walked away from the man, my mind made up — "You can tell your bosses that I'm not interested in being their goddamn showpiece."

"Goddamnit. Wait up, kid! All I'm asking is..."

"... where do you want to die?" — I stopped dead in my tracks as I was about to push the swing door on my way out. The question didn't come from Choi but a dark-skinned man in a bluish grey suit sauntering from the opposite end of the hallway towards me.

"W-what...?"

"Because the way I see it, soldier, you have two options. You can stay here. Trapped in this metal cage, for rest of your days. A helpless prisoner languishing in his own fear, his own grief, his own impotence in the face of their presence beyond that Wall. Until the time comes when starvation, diseases, an accident, or even the Kaiju themselves decide to end that frail and pointless existence. Merely a survivor, one among many, too weak..." — he stopped right in front of me — "...OR you can take a leap of faith, accept our offer and come with us. You're a soldier, are you not? Your duty to Humanity is to seek out and destroy the enemies that threaten its future. My proposal will allow you to do just that. It will make that task, YOUR task, considerably easier to accomplish. You will get a chance at your retribution, that much I can guarantee. Next time you face them, you will not survive, you will FIGHT. The choice is yours."

_The choice... _

_To be a prisoner or a soldier..._

_To live in fear or throw myself at an opportunity for revenge..._

_To survive or to fight... _

_It pisses me off how well he managed to push my buttons… _

_But putting it like that..._

"Mikasa Ackerman. Armin Allert. They come to." — the man smiled, seemingly accepting.

"Airbase, seven hundred, tomorrow. Mention your names at the entrance and they'll take you where you'll need to be. Mr. Choi, we're done here."

"Yes, sir." — the unknown man passed by as he exited trough the swing door, not saying another word. Choi followed him in short order, giving them a hasty 'goodbye and good luck'. Still absorbed by his words, I stood motionless staring at my own reflection on the service door's porthole.

"Having second thoughts?"

"Shouldn't I? After last time?" — when I dragged others into some reckless pursuit of mine. It hadn't end well —"She used to say that I've a knack for jumping into these sort of situations without thinking them over."

"_'Used to say'_. That's exactly why you're going through with this regardless."

_Not anymore, never again. That's right._

I still had an obligation to keep, an oath I took as I watched Zhiganshina burn and sink. That man was promising me the strength that I had been longing for since that day and, if anything, I craved it even further now than I did back then. A means to make amends for myself, for my family, for my friends, for my comrades, for my race...

"And you?"

"I won't let you commit the same mistake twice. Neither will Armin. You won't go through with it alone, not this time. But you knew that already, otherwise you wouldn't have given him our names."

"Why wouldn't I? Aren't we all we've left?" — I couldn't for the life of me recall the last time we had genuinely smile at each other like we were doing then.

"You learned that much at least." — either way, it was rather nice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, is my pleasure to inform you that negotiations have been concluded and my four associates and I will no longer disturb you this afternoon. So, without further ado, we shall take our leave." — we could hear Choi merrily informing the crowd in the rec room where we were heading into.

"They still have our weapons." — one of the agents complained. There was no sign of the other man.

"Do feel free to requisition them back from our hosts." — Choi suggested as he made his way out. One look around and that idea died instantly, and the four scurried off for the exit to catch up with him, constantly eyed by their former captors.

Once they left, the mob slowly began to disperse, basking in their small triumph. A few came to ask what the hell was that all about and, while grateful for their support and concern, I was too drained to give them a straight answer. I simply reassured them that everything was taken care of before throwing myself back on the couch.

"How many episodes are left?"

"...?" — Armin couldn't help but to stare at me with worrywart doubt in his mind, too cowed to ask me directly about those men and their interest in me — "A-About thirty or so, I think."

"Thirty. 20 minutes each. That's about 10 hours. We'll do a marathon then."

"Huh...?"

"We leave tomorrow. I don't want to leave the series unfinished."

/-/-/

/-/-/

The clock hadn't yet struck 6 AM when the three of us departed from the Hospital. The airbase was not that far off but we figured we might as well get there early since all the anticipation made for a poor night of sleep.

Not a single soul walked the foggy streets of Arkhangelsk, not at all surprising given the hour and the fact the city was practically devoid of inhabitants. The ruckus of a once bustling metropolis had been replaced by the constant low creak of the numerous electric windmills popping out like trees in every visible direction. Similarly, tarnished glassed greenhouses, the only source of sustenance available to those inside, littered any open area large enough to accommodate the rather makeshift structures. Unlike the ride to and from City Hall, it was bright enough this time around for one to spot the growing signs of deterioration in the various frontages we pass along the way. Also conspicuous were the weeds that sprout from the cracks on the unmaintained roads and sidewalks, where large piles of garbage gradually accumulated besides the long lines of abandon civilian vehicles.

Ironic that, for all my hatred of what it symbolized, it was the Wall, towering over the blighted city, that brought me some sense of reassurance in the midst of all this misery. A half-a-mile high behemoth of slate gray, with a grid-like pattern of thin black lines and blinking red lights that gave the impression that the city itself extended vertically towards the sky. Padding it were two gigantic, symmetric statues of Saint Olga solemnly standing guard by the main gate (embellished with the insignia of her bust), each one flanked by a line of platforms and large slits for the massive Kaiser-Gustav canons to stand on.

Thousands of kilometers away from home, yet so alike. Perhaps that's why I felt reminiscent. But such nostalgia also brought unpleasant thoughts; wondering what Zhiganshina looked like those days, barren of life after it was plummeted and ravaged by those abominations.

I couldn't wait to get out of there.

"Can I help you?" — arriving at our destination, we gave our names to the annoyed guard inside the airbase's gatehouse who skeptically checked his console for confirmation — "Hmpf, ya early. Can't wait to get out of the gutter, can ya? Fucking brats..." — he didn't bother to hide the malice in his tone — "Hangar No. 4. Your carriage awaits."

Our carriage turned out to be a medium-sized military cargo plane, a _Pelikan_ according to Armin, resting inside the large, and thus far deserted, featureless hangar. Knowing it would probably still be a while before whoever was going to give us a ride came to pick us up, we chose a nearby spot and decided to patiently wait it out.

We weren't alone for much longer.

"Seems we're not the first ones to arrive."

"Great, early bird just for second place. Those extra minutes in bed sound all the more pleasant right now."

"You can still sleep on the plane."

"While getting nauseated on a stiff-as-hell seat cause the whole damn flying refrigerator shakes and rattles due to the turbulence we're sure to get. Not quite the beauty sleep I had in mind."

The banter between two new arrivals echoed throughout the until then quiet aircraft shelter. Not content in keeping to themselves (being already quite audible notwithstanding), they made their way, in laid-back fashion, to where we were idly standing by.

"Let me guess, the man with the pompadour, bowtie and suspenders combo?" — the short cut blond with an imposing physique, clearly the talker of the two, was swift to break the ice.

"Umm... yes?" — Armin was the one who hesitantly answered.

"Looks like we're on the same boat then. Well... plane in this case, but you get the picture. I take it you're just in the dark as to what we signed up for, right?" — rather dazed by his jovial demeanor, we shared a look between ourselves before he continued — "In any case, glad we won't be the only ones going for whatever ride they've in store for us."

"..." — the other boy, an equally well-built brunet with tanned skin, cleared his throat to get his companion's attention.

"Oh, look at me. Already acting all chummy without even having the courtesy to properly introduce ourselves. Allow me to do so now. I'm Reiner Braun. My good friend here is Bertold Hoover."

"Please to meet you." — he timidly greeted, as another person entered the hangar through the small door.

"Ah, and that over there is..." — the same girl from the New Year's party, I immediately recognized. That Lieutenant who came to relay information to Zhukovsky — "... Annie, or Lt. Leonhart if you want to address her formally."

"Greetings." — there was no doubt about it. The same clip-held fair hair, the same eerie azure eyes, the same apathetic expression stamped on her face, even the same parka variant of the Guard's uniform she (like Reiner and Bertold) wore back then. Unlike her comrades, she chose to keep her distance while we exchanged handshakes with the two boys.

"I'm Armin Allert."

"Mikasa Ackerman."

"Eren-"

"... Jaeger!? The kid who got eaten alive!?" — Bertold's hand froze in place as he was about to grasp mine, his voice filled with an unnatural alarm.

"Just the one who managed to come back from it." — my answer did little to lessen the sudden uneasy situation as Bertold became even more tensed up.

"...s-s-sorry. I didn't mean to... I'm sure you don't like being reminded of it..."

"Usually I'm the one who's the insensitive oaf. " — Reiner chimed in to veer the conversation from its unexpected gloomy turn.

"You don't have to put it like that..."

"I had to tolerate much worse crap since I woke up, trust me. " — I assured him — "Just keep the starstruckness to a minimum and you'll do fine by me." — Bertold seemed to be reasonably relieved by my words while Reiner simply laughed it off.

"We'll try. Though, given your recently achieved fame among the folk around here, I can't exactly speak for the rest of those that will be coming along for the trip."

"Do you know how many more like us are there?" — Armin asked, curious for any details the two could give them.

"I'm not entirely sure, but there's definitely some major operation going down. What's peculiar is that, whoever these guys are, they appear to be only recruiting cadets from the Academy, all of them around our age bracket. You three are the only exception I know of so far." — and even then it was only because we were conscripts. We were still within the age demographic.

"I fathom they want me for the publicity, but why would they only pick cadets? Shady military programs like the one they're operating are generally interested in employing more hardened soldiers. I mean... no offense, I'm sure you've seen your share of the fight."

"Eh, maybe they just like em young." — whatever faux pas I may had committed was brushed aside by Reiner's quip — "Still, I get your point. All we did was oversee frontline logistics, like most juniors have been doing since nearly every available officer and senior cadet had to be reassigned to combat units. Nothing that would exactly warrant any sort of special attention."

"For the two of us anyway. Annie served as aide-de-camp to the Generalissimo herself. I reckon that was the reason in her case." — given the interaction I got to see that night between the two, I wasn't that surprised she had such an immediate subordinate role to the old woman.

"Really?" — my friend, however, was more impressed by the revelation — "Those people must've considerable leverage behind them if they managed to coax the Generalissimo into relinquishing her own personal assistant."

"Especially considering Zhukovsky's fondness for anything having to do with the Reich. What was the sales pitch they gave you anyway?"

"Like I mentioned before, it wasn't that much. They said they were a part of some special project and we apparently fit the criteria, whatever those are. When we tried to dig for more info..."

"State secret, you aren't in the need to know."

"State secret, you aren't in the need to know. Exactly."

"But you ended up accepting regardless." — the shorter of the blonds pointed out.

"Considering what the alternative is. At the rhythm things are progressing, it wouldn't be long before they put us runts in charge of battalions of half-starved draftees to throw at the grinder. Hardly anything can be worse than this." — sensible as it seemed, I still felt divided as to whether he should condole or condemn their motive — "So why did you decided to join?"

"To fight the Kaiju." — unlike them, I hadn't made the choice because it presented an avenue of escape — "That's what the other man implied we'll be doing."

"Other man? We only talked to that Choi guy."

"The dark-skinned man, Choi's superior."

"None of us saw anyone like that." — that was strange. Perhaps Choi had less trouble in clinching the deal with the others so his boss didn't had to intervene, I pondered — "I mean, we'll take your word for it but..."

"Yeah, I'm somewhat skeptical on how a select group of teenagers are going to make a modicum of difference in a war where whole armies crumple like tinfoil. Sounds like the premise of some epic novel." — hearing it from Reiner, it did sounded like an untenable outlook.

"Guess we'll have to wait and see then." — but the way that man had affirmed himself told me that I wasn't being duped with false promises. Or so I hoped.

"Through hell and high water I'm sure. Which reminds me..." — Reiner's happy-go-lucky tone suddenly became more downbeat — "There's something else I wanted to ask. If you don't mind that is..."

"As long it doesn't pertain to the whole 'eaten by a Kaiju' thing."

"No, no, it's not that. It's regarding..."

"Well?" — despite the denial regarding that sensitive subject matter, he was still having clear reservations about it.

"... t-the breach at Zhiganshina. Is it true that the Kaiju were the ones responsible for it?" — the brief moment of silence after Bertold made the question dragged on for an eternity, as I once again recollected my thoughts about that day.

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"You saw the spin High Command is putting on the entire affair. Officially, the incident is being attributed to a terrorist attack perpetrated by those Kaiju worshipping fanatics. Stuff about blowing holes in the Wall with high tonnage explosives and the sort." — a more comfortable lie than to admit the inherent failings of their beloved pen.

"And you believe that bullshit?"

"There were always rumors about a cover-up story, of Kaiju that surpass Category 3, but no one ever took them that seriously. They sounded way too preposterous and sensationalist to be believable, at least in comparison with the state-sponsored reports." — Reiner explained.

"You were actually there to see it for yourself, weren't you? What was it then?" — Annie had also been there during the ride back to the Hospital, listening in as I told my story to Zhukovsky. If the three of them were close, chances were that she had reiterated it to Reiner and Bertold, who now wanted confirmation from the source himself.

"Kaiju broke through the Wall, not human beings. That I'm certain."

Judging by their downcast faces, it wasn't the answer they were hoping for.

"So it's true, uh?" — a wistful Bertold verbalized their shared incredulousness.

"Is it that hard to believe?"

"Hard to take it all in. If there was ever a time I wished the propaganda was actually telling the truth. To think that they can simply burst through the Wall at any place, at any given moment..." — it was a bitter pill to swallow I had to admit. Nonetheless, it had to be taken if Mankind was to ever crawl out of its own short-sighted complacency — "Who knows, maybe it's like you said and we'll be the ones who end up fixing all of this. God knows how."

With the clock hand inching near the seven, more newcomers began arriving in small bands at the meeting spot drawing Reiner's attention who went out of his way to accost each group individually, with Bertold shadowing him dutifully. Mikasa and I let Armin do the talking with the few that approached us, as she wasn't the most outgoing person to begin with and I didn't want to deal with more potential admirers. As was touched on during our conversation, all of the late guardsmen were in their mid-teens like us and, from a distance, everybody seemed fairly familiar with one another, which made sense if they had been classmates back in the military academy. One sore contrast that stuck out between us and the rest was the slew of large backpacks and other luggage the later carried with them whereas we had nothing but the clothes we wore.

_Except..._

Reaching into my leg pocket, I rubbed my hand over a cold, slender and indented object.

_Father's key._

I still had it. Despite the maelstrom of the past two years, I had held on to it somehow. The key to some unknown secret that Father promised to show me once he returned. Not that it meant much. Zhiganshina and whatever lied in wait to be opened were long gone, as was Father himself as well for all intents and purposes. There was no point in pining for either.

"Alright, shrimps! Last call! On the plane, on the double! There won't be a second one to pick your good-for-nothing virgin asses out of this shithole!" — with proper boot camp etiquette, an aeronautical officer ordered us to broad the _Pelikan_ post haste.

Embarking through the rear ramp, the twenty or so of us strapped ourselves into one of the many sideways seats running the length of the aircraft as its engine's slowly came to live. Reiner was right; they were stiff-as-hell as I dourly noticed while the _Pelikan_ gently rolled onto the tarmac before being catapulted forward with tremendous force. I felt my stomach gluing to my insides due to the burst of acceleration and near vertical climb the plane took before it reached cruise altitude just above the endless sea of nimbus clouds bathed by the early sunshine.

With chitchatting made difficult due to the constant buzz and the distance between seats, the majority spent the voyage catching up on lost sleep (or at least trying to), despite conditions being less than ideal for such. Some distracted themselves by peeking outside, contemplating the first blue sky and sunrise many had seen in a long while. I did the same, but my focus was instead allured by the enthralling lightshow down below. A dark mantle infused with blue lightning, much like the husks of the creatures that spawned it. The veritable wake of their inexorable advance.

The one I had spent those two years fleeing from...

/-/-/

/-/-/

The rain had turned into a downpour by the time our neighborhood came within range. Everything I saw was in a harsh palette of grey due to the heavy clouds and smoke above, the only source of light available being the flickering thunderlight and the occasional dwindling fire. Being on higher ground than the canal front, the water level in the current area was not as bad as it had been further back though it was still past knee-deep depth which hampered our progress quite a bit. Each step was a grueling exercise through an irregular and slippery surface filled with unseen stumbling blocks that the flood had drag unto the submerged pavement.

Mikasa and I were the sole individuals wading through the street as, by then, any sane individual would've made their way to the gates in the opposite direction to escape both the rising waters and the Kaiju that followed them. Armin had argued this before we gotten ourselves separated a while back. Although he was equally worried about his Grandfather, he insisted that both him and Mother had most likely followed procedures and gotten to one of the pre-designated evacuation points, just as we should be doing. But I didn't share his certainty. I couldn't allow myself to leave her. I had to be sure. I had to get home.

We had been running at full gas since the office building, through the rooftops of the adjoining blocks, the improvised bridges made of debris that took us upland and the swamped roads that lead into the suburb. My hands and legs stung due to the numerous sunken sharp points I had inadvertently stumbled onto during the way, cutting and tearing my skin and clothes. A burning fire raged on the back of my head, as if my brain was attempting to claw its way out of this nightmare, further impairing my awareness of the surroundings.

_We're... we're nearly there. We got to keep going._

Worn out, disoriented, hurting... it didn't matter.

_Two blocks ahead, turn left. Then forward. _

We had gotten too far to do otherwise.

_One last stretch. Almost there._

The remaining distance was covered relatively quickly, our familiarity with the area guiding us in spite of its devastated state. We turned the corner at the final intersection to find...

"No." — even against the dim backdrop I could tell that something had gone horribly wrong — "No. No. No." — our house's silhouette was all screwed up, with some large and irregular object sticking out from the roof letting out faint billows of smoke — "NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo" — of ALL the places it could had landed on — "Mother!Mother!Mother!Mother!Mother!" — the sinking realization that my worst fear had become, in all likelihood, very real — "MOTHER!"

I ran as fast as his legs allowed, shoving aside all fatigue and pain, ignoring anything else other than the ruin of my home...

_**Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**_

...until that sound resonated through the empty street, short of my goal. My legs stopped. My mind stopped. The whole world stopped. Everything went dead quiet, save for the sound of water splashing, bending metal and pavement being pounded by heavy footsteps.

_**Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**__**-Hee**_

Emerging from the intersection some 40 meters ahead, came the source of that demonic cackle, poking its short, bulbous head from the corner of the street in a manner of a predator stealthily stalking its prey. The creature stared directly at me despite having no eyes whatsoever, that same disgusting grin from before, easily its most striking feature, widening in repugnant glee. It was made of suction-like lips that peeled off exposing a jaw made of broad, irregular, smooth-edged, guillotine-shaped teeth surrounded by fleshy gums running the whole front of its skull transversely. The rest of its elongated, white bone fusiform frame (like that of a fish) gradually came into full view as it turned the junction on its four lanky limbs and, much like its bigger brethren, it was highlighted by various patterns of neon blue lines that dimly illuminate the night-time. The monstrosity pushed itself upward to stand solely on its hind legs, its body forming a dozen or so meter tall, forward bending half arch that now made its way down the road, almost leisurely, towards its next victim.

And I wouldn't be its first it seemed.

_**Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee**__**-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee-Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee**_

The wide open mouth chuckle allowed me to see the inside of its maw. Torn fragments of clothes and body parts dangled from the shifting concentric rows of blood-stained teeth, the deepest of which was still chewing the remains of its most recent meal. I couldn't help but to be grimly entranced by such an hideous picture, both by the raw sense of terror it instilled and the seething ire it fueled deep within. Such an ignoble way to end a human being's life.

_Is that how I'm goi__**n**__g t__**o**__ die?_

The sea_**r**_ing on my scalp got wors_**e**_. A heartbeat _**f**_elt like a hammer po_**u**_nding my che_**s**_t, each s_**e**_nding tingling shockwaves _**t**_hrough_**o**_ut my skin. My whole bo_**d**_y began to palp_**i**_tate viol_**e**_ntly, as if it was trying to bu_**d**_ge itself from the pan_**i**_c induc_**e**_d paralysis.

I _**f**_elt Mikasa's hand c_**l**_enching min_**e**_ from b_**e**_hind. She was tre_**m**_bling as well, and her us_**u**_ally _**s**_toic face... how long had i_**t**_ had been since I had _**s**_een her so terrified? Then ag_**a**_in, it would be hard to conceal it, e_**v**_en for h_**e**_r, with such an abomination standing rig_**h**_t b_**e**_fore us, app_**r**_oaching.

S_**h**_e could've ran. Slip _**a**_way while i_**t**_ busied its_**e**_lf w_**i**_th finishing me off. Bu_**t**_ even _**t**_hen, s_**h**_e wouldn't l_**e**_ave me alo_**n**_e. N_**o**_t that it mattered anyway. _**I**_t was already too clo_**s**_e. Ev_**e**_n if we sca_**m**_pered _**a**_nd bro_**k**_e off in diff_**e**_rent directions, _**i**_t wouldn'_**t**_ have had any difficulty in catching us both. That wa_**s **_why it was taking its _**t**_ime, it knew we had n_**o**_ way to esca_**p**_e.

Poised to lunge at any _**m**_oment, we braced for wh_**a**_t was coming. Yet the _**K**_aiju abruptly stopped d_**e**_ad in its tracks, _**i**_ts focus drawn _**t**_o something behind u_**s**_. For a momen_**t**_, it almost l_**o**_oked like it was gas_**p**_ing in surprise.

_***BANG***_

Shot, impact and detonation were indistinguishable due to the speed of the round flung into the Kaiju's right flank, instantly turning it into a smoldering hole oozing out bright blue blood.

_**KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**_

Squealing in pain, it desperately tried to regain its equilibrium after the force of the blasts sent it stumbling backwards...

_***BANG***_

...only for a second shot to hit it square in the jaw, erasing that smirk of its. I watched with incredulous satisfaction as the Kaiju came crashing down on top of one of the nearby dwellings, where it writhed in pain.

We wasted no time.

Darting through the short distance left, we stepped inside our house or rather what remained of it after the huge piece of the Wall bulldozed the near entirety of its right side, leaving a daunting heap of debris in its wake. I was momentarily taken aback by the extent of the damage, not to mention the distinct possibility that Mother might had been crushed by the metallic slab, now precariously leaning in the farther end of what used to be the main hallway. However, as lightning briefly illuminated the scene, I was able to catch the sight of a lying figure in the midst of the rubble by the partly demolished kitchen.

"Mother! Mother!" — hurrying to the spot, the two of us began to frantically pick up pieces of cement, plywood, rebar and insulating foam, casting aside that gut-wrenching feeling that we might just been unearthing her corpse.

"E-E-r-r-ren...?" — to our never-ending relief, the sound of her feeble voice, barely loud enough to be heard through the torrential rain, dispelled that immediate fear.

"Hold on, Mother! We'll dig you out! We'll dig you out!" — the shoveling became even more enthusiastic knowing that she was still alive.

"I heard a loud noise... then the sirens... an explosion... and the ceiling collapsed..." — she was speaking in a half-delirious pattern, puffing small clouds of the whitish dust that deprived her of color save for the streaking trails of blood running from her head and arms.

"Is anyone in there!?" — a treaded vehicle came to a screeching halt outside, atop of which a familiar guardsman called for any signs of life.

"Hannes! Over here! We need help!" — without delay, Hannes leapt off his Komondor parked by the entryway and scrambled through the ruins to our aid.

"...Hannes?"

"Thank God! I feared the worst after I saw your house!"

"Mother's stuck. Quick, help us."

"I see that. She's alive at least." — without delay, he started to shovel alongside us — "Your Father?"

"He left before the attack."

"...attack? Who...?"

_***BANG***_

The Komondor spewed out another firebolt, close enough that we could feel a wave of warm air sweeping past.

_**KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**_

"... those noises... what are they? What's going on?" — Mother asked, startled by the unseen sounds.

"Let's just say that your son owes both you and I a very entitled 'I told you so' after we're all out of here." — it took her a moment, but soon her eyes widened in realization to what was being implied.

"...Kaiju...?" — she looked at us, hoping that one would rebut her conclusion — "The Wall...?"

"That's a piece of it over there." — I nodded in the direction of the large hunk of scrap, much to her reasonable bewilderment as she had certainly deduced said piece was the cause of our predicament.

"...how?"

"We'll concentrate on getting you out of here first, okay?" — with Hannes's help, Mother was soon free her from the waist up but, to our dismay, the mound pinning her legs was made from much bulkier chunks — "Okay, on three. One. Two. ThreeGGGGGRRRRRRRRR...!" — which, sadly and expectedly, proved to be too heavy to move, no matter how much we insisted — "...GAAAAAAAHHHHHH! Damnit, it doesn't budge!"

"Cap, we gotta bail!" — the clown from earlier, Samuels, urged his superior through the open gate, but Hannes had none of it.

"I know! Just kill that son-of-a-bitch already! Again! One! Two! ThreeGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRR...!" — we pushed and hauled with all our strength, but again to no avail as the remnants of the house kept a tight grip on Mother's lower half, in spite of our efforts. The undertaking seemed bound for failure until...

"Captain!" — apparently tired of waiting, the rest of Hannes's crew decided to join in, much to the confusion of the man himself.

"The hell are you doing!? I can still hear the damn Hyena!"

"The gun's fried." — Lysenko informed.

"Oh, that's just perfect! Of all the...!"

"Yeah, that's why we really need to leave. In hindsight, guess it wasn't such a bright idea to skip all those maintenance runs to play cards, hey?"

"And whose bright idea was that in the first place?"

"At least he wasn't the one who jinx us all, you godforsaken witch!"

"Can it, all of you! We're not going anywhere without her so the sooner we dig her out of there, the sooner we'll leave! Got that!?" — they hesitantly nodded and got in position — "Okay everyone, once more! One! Two! ThreePuusssshhGGGRRRRR...!"

Yet, whatever hope that us six would prove sufficient to dislodge Mother from the wreckage also proved fleeting.

"...GGGAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!" — much to our collective frustration and growing despair as the clock ticked away fast.

"...it's no use."

"Yes, there is! Don't say that! We just got to keep trying! There's definitely a way!"

"Have a little more faith in us, would you Carla? We'll get you out, you'll see." — Hannes did his best to hearten Mother's spirits.

"Nah... she's has a point Cap. There's no way we'll ever be able to do this by hand." — unfortunately the same could not be said for his men.

"Then what, Private!? In case you can't tell, we don't have any proper equipment at the ready nor do we've the time to go look for some! Keep pushing!"

"How about the Komondor? It has a tow cable. Maybe we can use it to haul some of the weight off of her?" — Svet suggested.

"The pile is already unstable as it is. We could just as easily end up fully squashing her legs and she would bled out." — the Corporal quickly rebutted the idea — "We got to figure something else."

"Hannes... take Eren and Mikasa to safety... just... go."

"Shut up! I'm not going to leave you here!" — I yelled — "I won't aband-!"

_**KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**_

Another pain-filled wail, another alarming reminder that the monster still lived.

"Goddamnit... we... we should do as she says." — Lysenko was the first to cede — "Take the kids and-"

"Negative. We stay here. We save her. Is that clear?"

"With all due respect Capta-"

"That's an order, Corporal!"

"Our orders, as you _should_ recall, are to fall back towards the gate and hold the line till the rest of the civvies are evacuated, not squander our time in no-man's land on some futile rescue effort. Our orders are to help those that can be helped! She can't-!"

"One more word, Corporal! One more word!" — Hannes looked like about ready to beat the insubordination out of him, but Samuels and Svet put themselves in the middle to separate the two.

"Cap, that thing outside is still alive, its friends will be on top of us any minute now and we currently don't have anything capable of killing them. I would very much argue that the sound thing to do is to get of here while we can, so that we _all_ don't end up as some Hyena's next snack." — unsurprisingly, the jokester seemed to lack the guts as well.

"Sir, we chose to tag along when you deserted your post on account of a personal relationship. We'll continue to stick by you, Captain, but we _will_ drag you back to the rally point by force if you keep insisting on doing this. Please... do not overstep your authority any further." — and so did Svet.

"The three of you, uh?" — verbally ganged up on by the three, even Hannes began to look despondent as his rank gradually lost its relevance in the present situation.

"...cowards." — I had heard enough — "You're all just cowards! Rats off a sinking ship! Scum! Every single one of you!" — I wanted to get directly in their faces but Mikasa, not wanting a bigger confrontation, effortlessly blocked my path — "A bunch of craven drunks, too spineless help an injured woman! Cowering behind your orders as an excuse to run away, to abandon her! Alone! Hurt! To die at the hands of that thing! You would rather feed her to it just to save your own shameful lives!" — they looked away, silently admitting their cowardice — "Would you give up if she was your mother, your family!? Would you act as guardsmen then!? As the soldiers you say you a-!?...huh?" — I stopped as I felt something clawing my ankle.

"Listen... to me!" — putting a monumental effort to remain conscious, Mother cried out against my protests — "Please listen. They're right... you won't be able to disembarrass me in time... it's pointless to persist further..."

"But-!"

"And even if you could get me out... my legs are crushed... most of my body feels numb... I've the telltale signs of having suffered a major concussion... and all the blunt trauma I received... if I've any internal bleeding... I won't last much longer anyway... I would only be a burden to you..."

"I don't care! I'll carry you myself if I've to! We'll get you to a doctor to heal you up!"

"Eren... for once, hear what your mother is saying... just this once. I don't... want this. I can't... let you all endanger your lives by staying here... for my sake alone. Mine isn't worth all of yours." — she took a paused glimpse at both Mikasa and I — "Not yours." — and then turned to Hannes, begging — "Please... just take them away from here. They... have to survive."

"Captain..."

"Hannes...?"

Everyone's attention was now centere_**d**_ on the bl_**o**_nd guardsma_**n**_, to whom Mother_**'**_s fa_**t**_e had been grudgingl_**y**_ trusted up_**o**_n. Visibly tro_**u**_bled by the choice he was being forced to make, Hannes could only hang his hea_**d**_ low, looking pensively _**a**_t the nume_**r**_ous puddles that had form_**e**_d on the ruined ground due to the rain. Mother's unhinged p_**l**_ea se_**e**_med to h_**av**_e be_**e**_n the final nail in _**h**_is resolve, as h_**e**_ looked to be se_**r**_iously considering leaving her _**b**_ehind lik_**e**_ she and _**h**_is men dispir_**i**_tedly i_**n**_siste_**d**_.

_You're going heed tho__**s**__e cowards!? T__**h**__e cri__**e**__s of a bar__**e**__ly lucid __**p**__arent!?_

_Afte__**r**__ all M__**o**__ther an__**d**__ Fath__**e**__r did for you!? You'll __**n**__ow deser__**t**__ her!?_

_Does s__**h**__e me__**a**__n that li__**t**__tl__**e **_too _**you**__!? Are you that __**weak**__!?_

I wanted to say so_**m**_ething, _**a**_nything that would ma_**k**_e him to stand up for h_**e**_r, but t_**h**_e words fail_**e**_d to mate_**r**_ialize because of the _**g**_rip Mothe_**r**_ maintained on my _**a**_nkle. Ne_**v**_ertheless, he did ev_**e**_ntually settle on a course of ac_**t**_ion, albeit one t_**h**_at w_**e**_nt aga_**i**_nst ou_**r**_ expectation_**s**_.

Without warning, he unstrapped the wide tube, that struck me as some sort of bazooka, that he (and each of the others) had been carrying on his back that whole time. He skillfully unscrewed the front cap and rested the back end on his shoulder while dropping to one knee, unmistakably intent on firing it despite the lack of an apparent target within sight.

"Uh Cap, where are you poin-?" — Samuels inquired, just as perplexed as to what his superior exactly planned to hit from there.

"Fire in the hole!" — undeterred, Hannes pressed the trigger as everyone promptly ducked for cover.

A sizzling missile launched out of the green alloy pipe, slamming into what was left of the side wall of the house, instantly razing it along with a good portion of the front courtyard in a deafening explosion. The blast left a ditch through the ruins from which a stream of water now gushed inside from the street, inundating the so far unflooded interior of the house. In the few seconds it took for everyone to pick themselves up (and before someone could ask what the hell was the Captain thinking), the water level had already risen past our feet and gradually continued to climb.

"Ahhhh..." — which posed a whole nother distressing complication — "Ahhhh... Ahhhh..." — as Mother was lying on the floor, still pretty much stuck.

"No! No! No!" — she could barely mask her growing panic as the soiled water quickly engulfed her while everyone just stood by powerlessly — "Someone do something! If the water keeps rising in like this-!"

"That's the point." — Hannes interjected, tossing aside the empty launcher.

"Letting her drown!? The hell did you do that!?"

"I'm with the kid, Cap. If this is your idea of putting her out of her misery, you might as well have pointed the missile at her instead. Would've end it a helluva lot quicker."

"Would you quit with the freaking jokes already! This isn't funny!" — Svet barked.

"H... _*glub* *glub* *glub*_" — squirming, Mother desperately tried to keep her head above the water, grasping my arm for leverage but, in the position she was in, it wasn't long before she was fully submerged.

"She's can't breathe! Hannes!"

"Captain, the hell is the plan here!?"

"The same! Keep pushing!" — he firmly maintained.

"But she's gonna-" — ignoring me, he took a deep breath and dived, reaching out to Mother to...

"Well... that'll keep her alive for now. Hope your dad isn't the jealous type, kid."

Still in the dark to what the plan actually was, we resumed our attempts to dislodge the heaping pile of debris while Hannes kept diving to provide Mother with air. Hannes' line of thought continued to be lost on me up until I noticed, to my uplifting confusion, that somehow we were managing to hoist the stack much further than we had been before, despite lacking a set of arms.

"Hahahahaha! Cap, you clever son of a gun! Its loosening! Heave! Heave!" — the clown was right, the large mass of rubble was slowly but surely becoming looser, but...

"How-?"

"Buoyancy. Archimedes' principle: any fluid exerts an opposite force equal to the weight displaced by a submerged object." — Mikasa expounded, having apparently understood the logic behind the approach.

"Huh?"

"I take it you don't pay much attention at school." — the Corporal quipped — "The water provides extra lift, kid. That's why the Captain blew that hole, to let it in. The goddamn flood is giving us a hand." — and as it turned out, it was all the extra help we needed. With one last effort...

"PuuuussshhhhGGGGGGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRR...!" — Hannes returned to the surface once more — "...GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" — only this time...

"...go-gotta ya... I gotta ya, Carla..." — dragging Mother as well, all muddy and shaken, but free at last. Of all the things I would be grateful for that day, I never would've thought that the deluge would be one of them.

"Mother!" — no response came to my inciting as I immediately rushed to her side to check on her — "Mother? Is she-?"

"She passed out. We need to get her to some medical care, stat." — Hannes lifted her unconscious body up, putting her in a fireman carry — "Let's get the hell out of here people! Everyone back to the Kom-!"

"Shit! Get down!" — Svet screamed in the nick of time, as the Komondor came barging in, slamming into the large chunk of the Wall behind us. And the one who threw it...

_**Heeeee-HEEEeee-HeE-HEe-HeEEeeE-HeE-HeE-HEeEee-HeeEEEe-HeE-HEe-HeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**_

What it had been an already horrendous monstrosity, was made worse by the plethora of wounds that littered its body, courtesy of Hannes and his crew. A pulsating tumor-like growth sprouted from the large crater the first shot left on its flank while the torn up mandible, a portion of which still dangled from the corner of its head, was in the process of being replaced along with the multiple broken teeth. The flesh around each injury boiled and steamed, while streams of blue blood coalesced with the pouring rain, forming a glowing, trailing slick on water beneath it. With its hind limbs blown out, it could only move by dragging itself with its one remaining arm, which was likely the only reason it still hadn't killed us.

"Back up! Back up!" — Svet and Samuels prepped, leveled and fired their own missile launchers, whose payloads found their mark, one in the head the other on the upper torso. The Kaiju reeled but otherwise effortlessly shrugged the missiles off, more annoyed by them than hurt.

"Damn firecrackers do jack!"

"Crap! Crap! Crap!"

"Around the back! Behind the big chunk! Move!" — we followed Hannes' instructions, racing to the backyard as the Kaiju slithered through the house's ruins to catch us. Such was its mad abandon, that it collided head on with the scorched Wall fragment, as we barely manage to evade its frenzied clattering maw. The impact caused the already precariously leaning slab to fall on top of it, temporarily pinning down the rampaging beast and allowing us to gain some ground on it.

"Now what do we do? There's no way we'll outrun that thing on foot, much less reach the gate before the rest overrun the Bastion." — Svet noted while they slogged through the swamped clearing where the communal greenhouses were located. A statement that rang ever more true by the increasingly perceptible cascade of cackles converging on our position from every seeming direction.

"Up there!" — with her finger, Mikasa singled out two nearly imperceptible blinking green lights in the darken skies.

"Thank the Blessed Seven! A _Geier_!" — the clown joyfully shouted while flailing his arms — "Hey! Hey! Over here! Hey! We could really use a lift!"

"He can't see or hear you all the way up there, moron! It's too dark and he's too far away." — I couldn't help but to think on how handy Armin's radio would've came in such instance — "He's not going to noti-"

"YES!" — Lysenko took his launcher — "HE FUCKING!" — aimed it skywards — "ISSSS!" — and sent the missile soaring in the _Geier_'s direction, in an act sudden psychosis. It missed by a wide margin, leaving only a blazing streak of propellant fumes and a spooked pilot if the aircraft's back and forth wobbling was any indication.

"The flying fuck are you doing, man!? Bring it down like that won't help us much!" — for once, I found myself in agreement with the clown.

"Got its attention, didn't I?" — whatever further questions any of us might've had about the Corporal's recklessness were deferred...

_**HEEEEEEEEE-Hee-Hee-Hee-HEEEEEEEEE-Hee-Hee-Hee-HEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**__**-Hee-Hee-Hee-HEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**__**-Hee-Hee-Hee-HEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**_

...as the Kaiju finally managed to free itself and snappily set off to pursue its fleeing prey. Ran as we might, it had little trouble in catching up with the group despite lacking of most of its limbs, flattening every structure along its path by splashing around like a fish out of water. I could only stare impotently over my shoulder as it crept ever closer.

_Have we gotten this far just to fail at the very end? _

Then there was light. A blinding flash of white beaming right in front of me. Against the chuckling and battering backdrop, the twirling drone of the VTOL's turbines were drowned out until it swooped in a short distance ahead.

"Hurry up! Inside! Inside!" — hustling towards the source, everyone hooped into the hovering aircraft through the opened side hatch as the pilot barked atop of his lungs.

I had barely one foot inside when the pilot banked the _Geier_ to side and sent its engines roaring, pulling it upward. The creature tried one last ditch attempt to catch us, catapulting itself into the air as if trying to devour the whole aircraft, but the pilot was skillful enough to avoid the clumsy leap. Rising towards the sky, I took one last look down at the Kaiju as it threw an almost childlike temper tantrum over our escape, thrashing and smashing what little remained standing in its vicinity. Our momentary safety guaranteed, the adrenaline coursing through my veins began to subside giving way to a crippling exhaustion, long due its toll, both physical and mental.

Collapsing onto the cramped cabin's metallic floor, I languidly gazed at those around me...

_Hannes… _

_His men..._

_Mikasa..._

_Mother..._

_Everyone made it..._

_Everyone's safe..._

...and then outside. To the smoke belching sea of flames, the crumbling cityscape and the hulking horrors advancing through all of it.

The apocalypse befalling Zhiganshina.

_How many will be able to say the same when this accursed day ends?_

_/-/-/_

* * *

_Eren's mom survives?_ [M Night Shyamalan voice]_What a twist!_[/M Night Shyamalan voice]

Anyway, I apologize for the constant back and forth between present day and flashbacks. I had originally intended for the first chapter to be exclusively about the day of the attack and then for the subsequent ones to continue on from there. However, I scrapped such plan when I realized that by doing so it would take a long time before we got to the meat of the crossover, deciding instead for a _in media res_ beginning and expounding on the past when given the chance in-story.

I intend to make the next chapters less flashback heavycentric, both to make them more easily digestible and so I'm not leaving waiting for the next one for too long. I was thinking of adding them as small snippets in-between chapters, along with some extra background info, to keep this story with a pulse as I churn out the next part.

(Also, I started to write this chapter's narration in a past tense third person perspective, then switched to a present tense first person POV and then finally to a past tense first person POV. I combed this +25k word beast more times than I can count to make sure the grammar is correct, but if you happen to find any error please forgive me and don't be afraid to go all grammar Nazi on me.)


	4. Reunion

_**Kinga Homeland Guard Army HQ**_

_**Warsaw, Citadel Kinga**_

_**November 24**__**th**__**, 2145**_

He found the old man like he had come to remember him. Merrily draining his engraved canteen of its inebriating content.

"How did it go?"

"Stripped of rank atop an indefinite suspension from any form of active duty. I'll be lucky if they let me spend the rest of my career doing menial tasks behind a clerk desk." — using his jacket's sleeve, he wiped the liquid trail that had formed in the corner of his mouth — "Everything went better than expected, all things considered."

"The drinking is celebratory then?"

"I always drink to the occasion, and there's nothing quite like a court-martial to rekindle one's love for the warm feeling this stuff gives." — not that the codger and his watery mistress were ever at odds, he figured.

"Still the same regular Ulysses S. Grant I see? Being under the influence would go a long way to explain the kind of stunt you went and pulled off." — and then some.

"Beats being a Benedict Arnold such as yourself Stacker, you turncoat son-of-a-bitch!" — the eldest of the two blared, making damn sure he was being heard — "Look at you! Marshal Pentecost! Just saying that out loud makes want to puke my guts out! Jumping ship to the OSS of all places!? I thought you better than that, you good-for-nothing prick!"

The two men shared a hearty laugh as they vigorously patted one another on the back.

"It's nice to see you too, General Pixis." — it was good to know his former mentor hadn't lost none of that peppy character of his.

"Ah, the feeling's more than mutual you sonovagun. Although it's former General now, remember? Besides, no need for silly formalism between us. Dot will do just fine." — the ousted officer invited his erstwhile protege to take point — "Let's move along, shall we. I had to spend five hours cooped up inside a bloody courtroom. I could use the stretch."

Despite the ongoing uproar surrounding Pixis' trial, the halls within the Provost Wing were virtually deserted, as they often were. Unlike the rest of the military compound that housed the Citadel's Guard central command, the interior decor went beyond the typical spartan simplicity, being proudly adorned with varied patterns and symbols of autocratic power. By far, the most common was the emblem of a chrome knightly helm, shaped like a canine's head, with its eye visor halfway up allowing a single, open-wide, all-seeing black rimmed white eye to stare fixedly at whoever gazed it. Coupled with the few and far between personnel that he had staffing it, Pentecost couldn't help but to be plagued by a bout of paranoia, as if an invisible presence was constantly tailing him.

The entire area exuded a caustically oppressive atmosphere, a pointed reminder of the wide encompassing reach of the OSS.

There was a saying among guardsmen: _In an age of monsters, be wary of those who cling to the weapons meant for humans._

Pixis might have been acting flippantly towards him before, but Pentecost didn't for second doubt that those weren't the General's true feelings regarding the organization he had recently joined. The overzealous and blatant degree to which many members abused their extremely loose leash had become a permanent stigma among all but the more privileged, which only served to further entrench them in such stance. And nowhere was this bad blood more poignant than in the difficult work relationship between the Guard and the Provost assigned to keep them in line. Unlike the general population, who cowered and (more often than not) kept whatever grievances they might had to themselves, guardsmen were imbued with a sense of soldierly pride and thus had less tolerance for self-righteous thugs, as they saw most of the MP. The latest two and half months worth of developments had only brought the long-established bellicose friction between the two branches to a boiling point. The General's actions, and the subsequent repercussions, were almost the straw that broke the camel's back.

"So… what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected encounter? Too much free time on your hands so you decided to check on this old coot?" — the General inquired in his perky manner of speech.

"I've been getting my hands full as of late, trust me." — too much it was starting to feel. About the only modicum of sleep he had been getting for the past couple of months had been in transit, travelling from destination to destination to arrange for everything.

"Oh, I bet. Fancy new ranks don't come cheap. I swear, if I didn't know you better Stacker... hell, maybe I really don't anymore. How long _has_ it been?" — ten years since they had last seen one another, seventeen since his pupil had abandoned the Guard. A lifetime ago it seemed.

"Too long I would wager." — it was simply easier to keep it vague.

"Finer time as ever for a reunion then." — the old man playfully declared — "Do I also happen to owe you for missing my appointment with the firing squad? What with you being with the whitecoats now. They rarely lets such flagrant cases of insubordination slide this smoothly without any favors being called on the side."

"You mostly have your men to thank for that. The whole garrison in Kaunas is on the verge of mutiny ever since the provosts came to arrest you, not to mention that the rest of the Guard is already up-in-arms after your actions. Powerful as they may be, even the OSS won't dare to rattle the cage further with the situation in Olga being the way it is." — under any other circumstances, they would be more than eager to make an example out of a high ranking guardsman such as him.

"My lads and lasses are causing that big of an headache, eh?" — a self-condescending grin formed bellow the old veteran's scruffy mustache — "Didn't know I was popular enough to warrant such upheaval."

"The order to keep the gates closed were taken badly as it was among the rank-and-file and many of the officers alike, especially given what it meant for the refugees huddling on the other side." — 156 resignations and 34 suicides in total among the higher echelons of the Guard tallied so far, to say nothing of the men they were in charge of — "You went and opened them anyway…"

"Guilty as charged." — he confessed, donning an expression befitting a proudly mischievous child.

"…and then, you drove an entire army through hundreds of kilometers of Kaiju-infested lands and back, rescuing hundreds of thousands of trapped civilians in the process." — _Pixis' Baltic Blitz_ as it was being popularly dubbed — "Roughly one and a quarter million people safely evacuated because of your unauthorized initiative."

"All at the cost of two thirds of those under my command." — an harrowing price for what entailed to less than one percent of the Citadel's rapidly dwindling population — "Do you think those guardsmen's families will appreciate their sacrifice? Find comfort in the fact that their loved ones gave their lives for… what? A dozen complete strangers each?"

"Do you?" — it seemed uncharacteristic for the guardsmen he once knew to have qualms over his actions in hindsight.

"If one looks at the cold statistics, that means each soldier lost can potently be replaced twelve-fold. The gain outweighs the loss. In a war, that's what tells a victory." — even if it was difficult for one to find solace in an industrial warfare mindset — "But even if such outlook justifies the worth of my endeavor, does it change anything? We can win small victories here and there, Stacker, but ultimately they change next to nothing in the grander scheme of what's to come. The foreseeable aftermath's the same, even if I had kept my boys and girls put. All it would take is another damn hole in the wall and then… what would it have been worth?"

"The way I see it, your men stand by your decision regardless. They weren't obligated to follow you through that gate in the first place but they did it anyway, all of them did. And if they had any regrets, they certainly wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of expressing their concern for their boozer of a CO afterwards." — the copious amounts of PK weaponry they had snatched from Olga's many pre-war caches definitely helped them articulate their disapproval.

"Let's just hope that doesn't get them all killed where the Kaiju failed to." — the more hawkish Provost-Marshals certainly advocated for that. Thankfully, cooler heads saw the forthcoming disaster that such a rash action would bring — "Honestly, if there's anything to feel indignant about is the damn magistrates caring more that I dared to disobey orders rather than all casualties that came because of it. Shows where their true priorities lie. Bah!" — he added with bitter disdain — "Should've saved everyone the trouble and simply stayed on the other side of the fence."

"Those rumors about you asking to be transferred to Olga's Guard in lieu of your sentence were true afterall?" — despite his best attempts, Pentecost's face betrayed a hint of slight incredulity.

"I'm not stupid, Stacker." — given what he did, any rational individual would very much put that statement into question — "I knew what I was getting myself into… okay maybe not entirely, but I did know that the whitecoats would've a fit over it. I figure shipping me to Olga would accomplish their goal of getting rid of me permanently, sooner or later, and at least there I could be more of use. Better than scratching my aging backside in compulsory retirement that's for sure. Maybe I could actually butt some sense in those quarreling idiots that were left in charge. A clutch of headless chicken running around a coop fuller by the day with foxes." — and all while, the heads safely watched on from afar. Those sad excuses for officers, deserts in all but name, are the ones who should've been put on trial, Pentecost thought — "I am a free man now, so it's still not too late to see if I can hitch a ride, somewhere…"

"I was hoping you would be open to a less suicidal proposition." — Pentecost wasn't about to let him waste his talents in such a brazen fashion.

"Oh, and what would that be?" — the old man feigned in surprise, as if expectant of his intentions —"Mind telling me what's all this about? I doubt the only reason you bothered coming all the way to Warsaw was just to catch up with your old mentor."

"Indeed." — anticipating his next query, Pentecost revealed the thinly layered folder he had been keeping inside his overcoat — "I'm here on business."

"Of what sort exactly, I wonder?" — taking the document case, Pixis quickly took pause just by glancing over its headline — "By the damn Seven. Of all the things you had to unearth right now Stacker..." — he began skimming through its contents in good rhythm — "And you actually got the funding for this!? Wall protect us... the _Hohenthron_ must be really painted brown these days."

"They're desperate enough. What they gave me is sufficient to commence operations, but little else I'm afraid." — the restricted budget was a severe hamper, but he had to work with what was thrown his way.

"Given the sheer amount of skeletons in the closet this thing has, it's still a downright miracle that they would give you the greenlight to restart the Program. You're a better salesman than you give yourself credit for, Stacker. Do tell how you manage to sway Mount Olympus into going forward with this." — Pentecost felt that Pixis overestimated his selling skills. Other than presenting it to the council, he had mostly been left out of the debate, as the 'Olympians' took the matter out of his mere mortal hands.

Stahl, after remarking on how retro the use of paper documents was, browsed through the file at a prodigious speed, gleefully forwarding a motion to approve the project once he was finished. The others were already moderately familiar with the Program having been the ones who originally sanctioned it in the first place, and later decommissioned it over ten years ago. Pentecost's attempt to resurrect it amid an escalating crisis came as a vexing jolt and Stahl's submission promptly threw the assembly into a furor.

The back and forth altercation lasted for several hours, as the battle line began to take shape. Olga's Castellan, yearning throughout the entire meeting for decisive action against the monsters plaguing his land, was quick to settle in Stahl's camp. Having been the most hard-pressed by their neighbor's plight, Petka's and Kinga's (eventually) also saw eye to eye, likely fearing that their Citadels would be next on the chopping block without a decisive shift in the current strategy. The High Constable, though aware of the likely possibility that the required assets would be diverted from the Guard, also gave his support to the ostensibly quixotic enterprise for the same reasons.

For the opposition, the Ecclesiarch stood as the loudest naysayer. The Church's head argued on the absolute ludicrousness of wasting vital capital and resources on some preposterous plan, rather than using them to strengthen the Wall. He even went as far as to accuse Pentecost of purposely trying to undermine their struggle against the Kaiju, practically insinuating he was the 'devil-worshipers' pawn'. More grounded in her arguments, the Lord Chancellor was nonetheless bluntly resistant to the idea due to the heftiness of the required investment, one she couldn't consent out of principle without a guarantee of an equally high return. Reserved during most of the procedure, the Castellans from Jeanne, Caterine and Elisabeth, while not reiterating the verbose priest's accusations, followed along the latter's line of thought.

The tie-breaker thus ended up in the hands of the Warden-Marshal, who wholly reveled in his position as the final say on the matter. The loftily way he declared it out-loud, with a childlike smirk on his face, came off as highly disturbing for a man in his position. The leader of the OSS made it candidly clear that he could not give his assent to the proposal, as its proposer had been anticipating. The project had already proven to be a severe security liability in its previous iteration, one that could've resulted in a major calamity on par with they were experiencing. Hardly anything desirable in itself, as he pointed out among Pentecost's own dealings with it. He also professed his skepticism and distaste for so-called special programs, at least for those that fell outside his control.

It was his not-so-subtle emphasis on that last word_ – control_ _–_ that had truly laid the cards on the table.

He didn't know why a man in his position would feel the need of maintaining the slim pretense that the attained outcome hadn't been his intention from the get-go, nor what exactly he stood to gain from it. Uneasy as he was about playing into his hand though, Pentecost couldn't let the opportunity slip by, lest all his work and the many sacrifices he had to endure be for naught. If that was how it had to be…

Pleased by 'their guest's' proposed compromise of putting the Program under OSS's direct jurisdiction, the Warden thus had enough of a pretext to cast his ballot favorably, allowing the motion to pass by the slimmest of margins.

"Awful nice of him to place you under his boot. If there was ever a more literal deal with the devil." — Pixis jested — "Though, why would _Ze __Fuehrer _be interested in taking the reins of something like this is beyond me." — the circumstances still egged him as much it they had done the man's cohorts. Rare was the instance, Pentecost imagined, where such a disparate group of people could reach a consensus. The sudden turn of events did manage to achieved it between both sides of the table, all with reasonable qualms about the thinly veiled power grab. In the end, however, their protests turned into nothing but disapproving grumbles. Those in favor resigned themselves to follow along with it and those opposing it became powerless on the grounds of being the minority — "Just how deep are the whitecoats in on all of this?"

"On paper, the only boots they'll have on site are the assigned security detail, though I fully expect them to infiltrate amongst the rest of the personnel to broaden their surveillance. You know their MO." — they had even demanded that a percentage of the potential candidates be chosen from their novices — "Apart from that, I've been assigned with full operational control, answering directly to the Warden himself. Hence the need of formally being appointed as a Marshal."

"Special Assignment Task Force 104." — his new arrangement formal designation — "It's indeed 'Special' for them to be involved with anything that doesn't revolve around dystopian law enforcement."

"That it is." — he sighed acquiescently — "Mr. Choi!" — bent over the rectangular mirror counter at the end of the long hallway that lead into farthermost part of the complex, Pentecost found his subordinate trying to woo the young giggling secretary sitting in behind it.

"Oh! Ummm... sir!" — he quickly stood up straight at the sound of his superior's voice, who signaled him to follow. He obediently fell behind the two, but not before turning around to briefly gesture 'call me' at the woman to whom he had dedicated his free time to.

"So what exactly would I be doing, should I let you recruit me into this adopted pet project of yours? I trust you don't plan to jam this old timer into one of these death traps?" — Pixis' eyes gazed the intricate series of schematics that dated back to the earliest bid — "Not that my inner eight year old wouldn't be positively delighted by such prospect."

"Officially, I find myself in need of a field tactical adviser, and it just so happen that an experienced Guard officer is now indefinitely dispensed from regular service. Plus, given his own past contribution…"

"I was the damn janitor for the whole damn thing, for Seven's sake. Cleaning up those idiots' mess." — he scoffingly reminded him — "'Contribution' sounds too constructive."

"Notwithstanding, I'm a bit shorthanded at the moment." — that his new supervisors were being quite picky on who he was allowed to bring in did him no favors — "Most of the original participants are either unwilling or, more often than not, simply nowhere to be found. And even if I did get everyone back on board, the project's entire scope is going to be larger than it ever was a decade ago. I'll have to make do with whatever qualified manpower I've at my disposal."

"Dug the corpse from its grave, and already expecting it to run the marathon." — a jolly chuckle came out of the elderly guardsman — "Oh, I knew you would never settle for playing firemen like they want you to. Always been the type that hunts down the arsonist before he has the chance to set the house ablaze. All that time spent lying down with the dogs certainly didn't change that, not one bit."

It was true. In its current incarnation, the Program's intended purpose was to serve solely as a countermeasure against any more occurrences like Zhiganshina. A mere fail-safe to fall back onto should Mankind's silver shield falter once more. The likely inevitable. Pentecost felt he was not a man up for such task, for he was by no means inclined to sit idly by and patently wait for the enemy to come to him. His former mentor's observation was spot-on in that regard, in spite of all the years that passed since both parted ways.

"We can ill afford to let the Kaiju pull our species deeper down the abyss, while it still clings to its shortsighted primal need for any modicum of inviolability first and foremost, hollow as it's proving to be. To linger in this Maginot mentality, the same old song and dance that allowed us to be caught off-guard by the threat that sat outside our door for more than a century… only extinction will come of it, you know that as well as I." — dragged out of its cradle into the trenches once more, he vowed to make damn sure that Mankind would not go gently, defiant to the bitter end — "Which is why it's high time that we seized the initiative, much like when you took it upon yourself to rescue all those stranded people, consequences be damned. To that end, it's imperative that we retake what was lost in Olga. She'll be but the first step, the first hurdle to cross in a greater struggle. And, in due course, we'll be the spearhead that will carry out such undertaking."

"But you'll need the Guard to be the shaft. That's the unofficial reason. You require my connections. Someone with enough clout to act as reliable liaison between the you and the HGA." — it was precisely that shrewd side of him, neatly concealed behind his tomfoolery, that Pentecost believed would greatly aid in concretizing his future plans for the Program.

"Or, it could be that I'm merely doing an old friend a favor by offering him a new job. It's healthy for a man your age to keep his mind busy afterall, to help stave off senility. Real shame to let an intellect like yours deteriorate in such a disheartening manner." — it truly had been too long, Pentecost reminisced as he took a turn to engage in a bit of amiable banter with Pixis.

"Well then… I'm not usually the one to allow myself to partake in acts of unashamed cronyism. But what kind of friend would I be if I said no after all the troubles you've been through out of concern for your old teach. It's not I like have anything better to do anyway." — the two officers sealed the deal with a shaking of hands — "Guess I'll start getting practice on my 'Hail' and whatnot. God knows, you-our new comrades would probably execute me if I don't do it properly. A pity after the literal bullets I just avoided. By the way, are you by any chance aware on their stance over alcohol?"

"They enforce a strict temperance policy I'm afraid. But you'll be working under me, and I can be lenient. At this point, that brain of yours practically runs on the stuff. Wouldn't want to hamper its performance." — his former teacher appeared visibly relieved by the news — "Do try and keep your mouth from running too much though."

"No promises."

/-/-/

* * *

**The Wall**

Standing at an average height of eight hundred meters, a quarter thousand thickness at the base and an estimated outer perimeter of approx. fifty thousand kilometers, in addition to another ten thousand for the inner sections that divide the Citadels, the Anti-Kaiju Wall (more commonly known as The Wall of Life or just The Wall) is quite deserving of the moniker 'greatest man-made structure ever built', if only for its sheer size. Built as a latch ditch effort to check the Kaiju advance in the waning days of the eponymous war, the titanic bulwark is credited with the survival of the human race, having sheltered little over a tenth of its total pre-war population. Its conception and construction are all heavily shrouded in myth, in spite of its relative contemporaneity, primarily concerning the figure of its creator, the Architect, who would subsequently be given the title of 'His Most Holy' by the Church.

From its outset, the Wall has stood as an object of worship by millions of devotees, who, in accordance to canon law, deem it as a gift from God to his children, an aegis against the demons that arose from Hell's depths to lay waste to human civilization. These tenets are wholly endorsed by the Church, the epithet of the interdenominational authority that oversees the various religious rites centered around its veneration, which in the modern era holds supreme authority over all spiritual matters. It was under its auspices that, a decade after Mankind's final withdrawal into the Wall, the surviving political entities, faced with growing unrest due to their failure in tackling the mounting woes beleaguering the populace after the war's end, reorganized themselves under a more centralized form of government. Although having no official name, this new governing body became commonly referred to as the_ Hohenthron_ (German: High Throne), after the massive fortified complex built deep within the Alps that houses its more prominent members.

Among the most significant of changes, the entirety of the walled in territory was consequently partitioned into seven (meant to be twelve originally) enclosures, each separated by newly-built inward extensions of the Wall. The Citadels, as they came to be termed, were colloquially christen with the name of a female Christian saint, based on the regions they enclosed. On account of the profound religious undertones involving their inception, the Ecclesiastical establishment would later make these the formal designations for the new territorial divisions. These are:

_Citadel Jeanne (after St. Joan of Arc)_

Constituted by most of the territories west of the Rhine river and Alps, and north of the Pyrenees.

_Citadel Caterina_ _(after the St. Catherine of Siena)_

Encompassing the bulk of the Italian Peninsula, enlarged as a consequence of the closing off of the Otranto Strait by the Wall's construction.

_Citadel Elisabeth (after St. Elizabeth of Thuringia)_

Delimited in the west by the Rhine, east by the Oder, north by the Kiel Canal and south by the Alpine chain.

_Citadel Kinga (after St. Kinga of Poland)_

Confining the area in-between the southern Baltic seacoast and the Carpathian mountain range.

_Citadel Petka (after St. Parascheva of the Balkans)_

Circumscribing the central and eastern Danubian basin plus the northern half of the Balkan peninsula.

_Citadel Olga (after St. Olga of Kiev)_

Comprised of nearly all European land of the former USSR, demarcated by the Black Sea, Caucasus, the Urals, and the St. Petersburg-Arkhangelsk axis.

_Citadel Maria (after the Virgin Mary)_

Surrounding Switzerland and the majority of the Austrian and Italian Alps. It's the only Citadel whose borders don't face the outside in any of their length, being completely surrounded by Jeanne, Elisabeth and Caterine. Housing the _Hohenthron _itself, Maria acts as the capital Citadel, her Castellan having the title of Lord Chancellor and presiding over the remainder six.

In addition to its inner sections, smaller enclosures were also added to both these and the outer perimeter of the Wall. With each housing major population hub, these walled cities, termed Bastions, act primarily as a lure for the Kaiju, which are drawn by large concentrations of humans, allowing the Guard to focus its defensive assets and surveillance efforts around these centers. Other than these, no other inhabited settlements are permitted within a 15 kilometer distance of the Wall, both to maximize the Bastion's effectiveness and for security reasons. Sizable urban areas (+100 000 inhabitants) must be distanced five times as much.

/-/-/

* * *

I apologize by the lateness of this update and the fact that it isn't Chapter 2 proper, rather a (hopefully informative) small diversion from the main plot. Time to write the fic has been unfortunately on the short side seeing that I'm currently in the midst of writing my master's thesis, among other side projects I'm involved in. So, until that monstrosity is done with, more material will come out considerably slowly I'm afraid.

Still, I hope you'll stick around for the (admittedly little) content I'll be able to offer in the meantime.


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